


The Universe Wants Maya Dead

by graywrites



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7521256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywrites/pseuds/graywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy's Law: What can go wrong, will. Maya jaywalks. It's not a big deal, until it kind of is. Well, that's what starts this. Why can't Maya catch a break? The universe hates her, she's sure. Maybe the universe is homophobic. Look both ways before you cross, kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Almost

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from an anon. It's kinda angsty, but also there's fluff. Heavens to Betsy Maya, will you never learn?

Friday. 10:23 pm.

“Don’t jaywalk! That’s against the law! Do you not fear death, woman?!” You screech, but nevertheless, you are holding Maya’s hand as you bolt across the Manhattan streets and almost, you are floating.

It’s mid November and everything is icy and distant, but Maya is warm against your skin. 

It is just almost absolutely perfect, honest, but you don’t complain, so almost is close enough. Sort of. 

Yeah, aside from the things you both aren’t saying, tonight is perfect. Things you’re not saying because it’s easier to ignore it, instead. It’s fine. 

You could talk yourself hoarse with the things you’re not saying, like how the way Maya looks at you is unfair, or like how you’re kinda playing a losing game with this whole being in love with your best friend thing, or how you can’t stop staring at Maya’s lips, but no, not tonight, it’s fine.

Maya could talk herself hoarse, too, but you don’t know that, and it doesn’t really matter, because you’re laughing hard enough that it hurts your ribs a little, and the two of you lean against a street light that glows orange and steady, and God, is it pretty tonight. 

“How far are we from home?” Maya mumbles, looking up. Her hair is tangled and windblown. Her makeup is smudged. She looks like a mess. You think she looks gorgeous. How could anyone not?

“Not too far. We didn’t even go far at first, you know, we just went to the park and-” you try, smiling.

“It’s not my fault we got lost. You said lead the way, go left, I went left.”

“You went right.”

“Your right. My left,” Maya pouts.

“Maya,” You giggle, “There’s no way you could’ve possibly gone anyway but right. We were facing the same direction.” 

“Well, you didn’t tell me that ‘till we were twenty minutes in the wrong direction. Whatever, come on, no cars,” Maya says, and without waiting for you to so much as hear her, like someone more polite might, she darts across the street.

You run along with her, tripping over your feet, until you safely make it to the other side of the street. “We’ve really gotta stop doing that,” You pant. 

“It’s faster,” Maya assures you, and you smile, because you would follow her to the end of the Earth, and it’s hopeless, so what can you do?

Boy, you love her. 

“Riles, no cars!” Maya exclaims.

“There’s one right there, Maya, we will not make it,” You say, and you know this for a fact because it’s getting dangerously close to you.

“Yes, we will. It’s not that close. Move it or lose it, you’ve gotta believe,” and Maya darts off into the street without you, you laugh until you realize that the car is too close, too close, and she stops dead and turns and either you scream or she does, (you can’t tell, but you think it’s both of you) and the car collides into her body like she’s a ragdoll, and though you can’t entirely see you know that her body slaps the windshield then rolls off onto the street. 

“MAYA!” There aren’t that many cars but they swerve and honk as you dart into the street to get her, anyways. 

You lean down and look at her, hold her, and her eyes are dull and it scares you. “Maya. Maya, Maya,” You say, but maybe you’re screaming. You can’t even really hear. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs. She’s bleeding. Bleeding everywhere, and she’s breathing so slow, so labored. 

“No, Maya, don’t be sorry, Maya, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, Maya,” You say but you’re shaking and crying now. 

“Hurts, Riles,” She whispers. 

“Maya, just, can you do something, just do something for me, Maya?” You stammer out. 

“Whatever you want,” She smiles faintly. She winces.

“I want you breathing, Maya, please, Maya, you need to stay with me, you’ve gotta stay with me, okay? Okay?” You persist, salty tears spilling off of your face. “I love you, Maya.” 

“Y-yeah,” Maya mutters. 

“I’m gonna call 911 now, okay?” 

Maya nods and you dial hazily. You barely know what’s going on. You tell the officer that your friend is hurt through sobs. She tells you to stay on the line, but you don’t. 

Friday. 10:57 pm.

The ambulance is blaring and you’re standing in the corner, EMT’s swirling around you. You’re spitting questions at them, but they’re not listening. You hear cracked rib but not much else. They tell you to call her mom, but you call yours instead. 

“M-mom,” you stammer, “Maya’s hurt. Maya’s hurt. You’ve gotta call Katy. It’s bad.” 

Topanga responds with something you don’t hear, then promises to meet you at the hospital. 

The girl you love is unconscious on a stretcher in an ambulance and you pray that it’s not real, it can’t be real, because she is so strong but she looks so broken and small on that stretcher.

Friday. 11:11 pm.

You wish that she won’t die as they tell you to sit in the waiting room and they rush her into some room where people go to die. 

Your parents rush in, and so does Katy. 

“Riley, baby, what happened?” Topanga asks, and her voice is soft and kind.

You laugh bitterly and try to stop crying. “We jaywalked,” you say with a dripping voice that cracks.

Katy rushes up to a doctor in the corner and you think she’s yelling at him. He says something to her with a strict, restrained face. Katy deflates.

She turns around and comes back. “What’d he say?” You manage.

“I asked him if she’ll be okay. He said they don’t know yet,” She says, and collapses into a chair. You think she’s crying, but she doesn’t make noise. 

“But… I love her,” You say, as if that will change something, because she can’t just die. You love her, and shouldn’t that matter to someone, somewhere? She can’t just die.

Were you thinking that, or did you say that out loud? Katy lets out a sob. 

“Riley,” your father says, putting his arm around your shoulder. 

“Dad,” You weep, “She can’t. She can’t. I love her. I told her I’d save her, Daddy. I love her. I said she’d be alright, I promised, she promised she’d keep breathing, she said, ‘whatever you want,’ she can’t.”

Somehow you can’t help feeling like this is your fault. You could’ve stopped her. Should’ve stopped her. Could’ve called 911 sooner. You shouldn’t have been out at that time, anyways. 

Now she’s gonna die, and she doesn’t know you love her, and maybe it’s a little your fault. What can you do?

“She can’t,” you say, or scream, or weep. You don’t know.

You don’t know how long you go on like that, either, just that you fall asleep that way.

Saturday. 4:32 am.

“Ms. Hart?” That’s what wakes you up initially, along with everyone else.

A sick feeling grows in your stomach. This wasn’t a dream. Your eyes sting and your cheeks have that awful feeling of waking up after crying. Your mouth is thick and you want to dissapear. 

You wish this wasn’t real.

“Ms. Hart, she’s stabilized, if you want to see her,” The doctor man says, and immediately you sit up.

“Me too.”

“Well, we only really allow family, and-” The doctor starts.

“She’s family. She’s coming,” Katy says firmly. The doctor shrugs. 

“Long night,” He mutters, then leads Katy, you, and your parents into a hospital room. 

“Maya!” You yelp. She… she looks awful. But she’s awake. 

“Baby girl,” Katy says, and goes to grab Maya’s hand.

“Hi, mom.” She says dopily.

“The run down is she’s got a collapsed lung, hence the tube, fractured rib, broken wrist, and a nasty concussion. The tube should help to inflate the lung, and after that it can heal by itself. Fractured ribs heal on their own within a month or two, though we usually prescribe some painkillers to make breathing easier. For the wrist we’ll put a cast on her when she’s in better condition. The concussion is probably the least of your worries now. Lucky she didn’t start seizing though,” He says.

“I want a blue cast,” Maya mutters. You laugh.

“I’m gonna kill you, Maya,” You say.

“Don’t joke,” she mumurs, then winces. 

“You’re never crossing the street without me,” You continue.

“A car never hurt anyone,” Maya says with a smile.

“You almost died, Maya,” You stress.

“Gimme a break,” She says tiredly.

“She should rest now, there can’t be more than one person,” the doctor says.

“Riley, maybe he’s right, you should come home and get some rest. We’ll visit in the morning,” Cory says, but he doesn’t mean it.

“I’m staying,” you say stubbornly, and your parents just laugh.

“Okay. We expected that. We’ll be in the waiting room if you need us,” Topanga says. 

“Riley can stay,” Katy tells the doctor, “I say she can.”

You smile, the doctor sighs. “You Hart’s need to stop visiting my hospital every six month. Keep a leash on that kid,” he says. 

You pull up a chair and sit next to Maya’s bed, head by hers. “Riles?” She says softly, half asleep.

“Hm?”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too, Maya.”

“No,” she yawns, “the other way.”


	2. For Tonight, 'I Love You' is Enough.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small barriers and knowing better will be your destruction, and what can you do then? Or: Riley is protective, Maya is over it, and Evelyn has some wisdom to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to add another chapter, huh? Well, somebody asked for it, soooo.. It was supposed to be fluffier, but, uh.. here we are. Still substantially fluffy, though.

“Is this _really_ necessary?” Maya groans as you take her by her (cast covered) hand. 

“Absolutely. We are not having a repeat of last time I tried to cross the street with you. You are precious goods-”

“Damaged goods, apparently-”

“PRECIOUS GOODS, Maya, and so you are going to hold my hand as we cross AT THE LIGHT until you get it into your head that safety is first,” you shake your finger at Maya. 

“I pretty much busted my head open, Riles, it’s the stuff coming out we’ve gotta worry about,” Maya smirks. 

“It was only a concussion, Maya,” you say as you very safely cross the street, your hand on Maya’s cast, “and anyways, that’s not my point. My point is that I’m going to keep you intact if it kills me.” 

“This is taking too long, we’re gonna be late to school,” Maya grumbles.

“She cares about school! Maya Hart cares about missing school! Don’t worry, Maya, being late will make up for any ‘street cred’ you lose by taking perfectly reasonable safety precautions,” you laugh.

“Funny, you’re funny,” Maya grumbles. 

By the time you’re on the subway it’s ten minutes past late and you’ve got twelve to go on the subway still, _and_ a four minute walk to the school building, but you don’t care. 

You glance over at Maya. Her head is on your shoulder, and she’s long since fallen asleep, curled up in a ball next to you, and God, is this perfect. 

Almost. It’s almost perfect, because isn’t that so _Riley and Maya_? Always just almost, always so close, but something stops you before anymore can become of the moment. Small barriers and knowing better will be your destruction, and what can you do then?

What would anyone do? What _can_ anyone do when they’re hopelessly in love with their best friend?

What a romance novel piner you are, quite the dramatic warrior of love. Of stupid, immature, ninth grade love.

It doesn’t feel stupid when you’re looking at her. That’s what’s killing you. 

So what can you do? What can you do when you’re here and she’s there with her head on your shoulder and her hair in her face and she doesn’t love you back?

‘No, the other way.’ That’s what she said, and it’s been echoing in your head all weekend. You don’t know if she remembers it, and if she does, she hasn’t acknowledged it. 

Maybe she doesn’t remember it. She was hopped up on a lot of pain meds and it was late. Really late, actually, and you were tired, too, so maybe it was even a dream. And under those circumstances? It’s best not to ask. It would only mess things up. That much you can guess. 

By the end of the subway ride, you’ve woken up Maya and she’s denied having ever fallen asleep in the first place, and now you’re rushing into school. 

“Well, we’ll make a dramatic entrance, that’s for sure,” Maya shrugs. “How do I look,” She smiles and strikes a pose, flipping her hair out of her face with her good hand. 

“Kinda busted up,” you laugh, rubbing at one of the cuts on her face, “but pretty as always.”

You wince internally because surely that’s flirting, or crossing SOME sort of line, but she only falters for a millisecond (she blushed a little, if anyone cares) then smiles as you walk down the hall. 

You’re interrupting the lesson, you know, but since the class revolves strictly around you and Maya, you doubt anything was happening either way. 

“We’re here!” Maya shouts, and you can’t help but grin at her. 

“Maya, what happened?” Lucas and Farkle rush up to greet you, along with a clearly hurt Maya.

“I almost died. No biggie. You shoulda seen the other guy,” she gloats. 

“Maya,” you laugh, “the ‘other guy’ was a Chevrolet Cruze 2012, and you barely left a dent as it hit you and drove off.” 

“You got hit by a CAR?” Lucas says, dumbfounded.

“Yes, that’s what happened. Wild time. Collapsed lung, broken rib, concussion, busted wrist, the whole deal. Riley here thought I would die. Ha, you shoulda seen her when I woke up, she was all, ‘Maya, Maya, I thought you were gonna die!’” Maya keeps going. 

“I think my exact words were, ‘I’m gonna kill you,’ but the sentiment still stands,” you laugh. 

It goes on like that for the rest of history, and you don’t mind entirely. Maya seems happy.

She refuses to let anyone sign her cast. (It’s blue, like she wanted.) She says it’s because she doesn’t want anyone to go and ruin your signature, which is big and flowery with a cat drawn in purple marker at the end.

This makes you feel special. You try to remember not to get used to it. It doesn’t work. 

By English class Maya has faded, and you’re sitting on the floor together watching the movie the teacher put on with her head against your shoulder again.

She lets out a small moan, and you turn to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Head,” She mutters tiredly. “It got busted up on the outside, too. Still hurts sometimes.” 

“I’m sorry, Peaches,” You say and put your arm around her. She draws her body closer to you, and with a smile you thrive on the fact that she is too tired to be invulnerable right now. 

On the ride home, a familiar voice calls from the corner. “They’re back! They’re back, and one of ‘em is broken!”

“Hi, Evelyn,” you say as she takes a seat across from you. 

“Now, what happened to this one?” She points at Maya.

“I nearly died and now Riley won’t let me cross the street,” Maya grumbles and you melt again.

“So let me get this straight… You nearly die, yes? And this little girl cares about you enough to try to keep you safe after that? Oh, how _horrible_ ,” Evelyn says with well meaning sarcasm, which should be an oxymoron. 

“Riley, were you there when she almost died?” 

Riley nods dutifully. 

“Little girl, it’s your friend Riley that kept you alive. You know how? The power of love. Ever since the beginning. This girl is what you call a good friend. You find yourself a good friend and you keep ‘em. You find yourself a good friend and you marry ‘em! I had a good friend once. We could’ve gotten married, but I messed something up. Don’t be like me. Understand?” 

You nod. So does Maya. 

“That’s my wisdom for today, girls. Get home safe, now,” Evelyn says.

“Thanks, Evelyn,” you both say.

Find yourself a good friend and marry them? You can’t help but roll the idea around in your head. 

The two of you don’t speak the whole way home. You pretend it’s for no reason.

Later- much later, you mean- the most silent hours of the night have come and you and Maya are lying side by side. She’s sleeping over at yours, like you insisted, and it’s almost perfect. Normally you’d be a mess of tangled limbs and heads on chests, but Maya’s ribs are sensitive, so you can’t. (Even though you know you’ll wake up like that, anyways.) 

You think Maya’s asleep, until she turns to you. In the dark you can see that her eyes are open, but just barely. You wonder if she just woke up. It must be one in the morning, and really? You should be sleeping. 

Something’s keeping you awake, though.

If you want to be specific, actually, it’s someone, not something, but the last thing you want to be right now is specific. 

“Riles?” Her voice is delicate and drowsy.

“Yeah?”

“’Member what I said in the hospital?”

“You said a couple things.”

“About loving you.”

“I remember that, Maya. Yeah,” you say.

“I meant it,” She mumbles. “I love you,” She goes on.

“I love you, too, Maya.”

You smile. 

If you weren’t so tired, you might wonder if it’s always gonna be like this- half coherent declarations of ambiguous love before you doze off, questioned or veiled by regret by the time the sun rises. If you weren’t so tired it might hurt a little, too. But it’s been a long day, and you’re tired, so for tonight? ‘I love you’ is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment, dude. Also, I take requests, so if there's a fic you want, ask me for it at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	3. "It was just a concussion, Maya."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley doesn't want to know what a world without Maya is like. The world doesn't care what Riley wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So honestly I've had soooo much fun writing this chapter especially. It's long! Originally this started as a requested one-shot, and look at it now, it's a trip. I'm very attached to this story. I hope you enjoy!

Maya looks at you with the dismay of someone just informed of a comet hurtling towards Earth, but all you did was tell her to come eat breakfast.

“What? Breakfast? Uh, no, I already ate,” She stammers out while keeping her eyes trained steadily to the side. 

You know this is a lie because Maya refuses to eat breakfast unless someone makes her, but usually she’ll agree to eat with you in the morning. 

You know she’s lying, but you decide to keep your mouth shut, anyways.

“Are you ready for school, then?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Uh. Yeah. Maybe we won’t be late this time,” She says, getting her bearings back and forcing a smile. You think she’s right; you’ve never left this early before.

“Don’t think I’m letting go of the whole _holding your hand_ thing, Maya,” You chirp. She lets out a thin laugh, but no words of protest. 

You walk the busy streets carefully, only ever crossing at the light when each and every car has come to a complete stop. You know you’re holding up the road, and boy, so do those Manhattan drivers, but if being a pain in the neck means keeping Maya safe, so be it. 

You talk, and Maya listens, sort of. She’s mostly staring at the sides of buildings, with the occasional positive hum of agreement, even if the timing of the conversation doesn’t entirely call for it. 

The safety precautions make the walk to the subway unreasonably long, but leaving early improves your time, so the outlook is good by the time you get to the subway.

You help Maya over the gap, and dizzy on her feet she nearly falls, but you manage to catch her. 

“My hero,” She swoons jokingly, and once again, you melt, and what can you do? Against this girl, you have no chance. 

You board the subway together and she leans against you like she did yesterday. Your heart clenches and you know you’re a goner, but you try to ignore that notion, anyways. It nearly works.

Whatever. You try to enjoy this while it lasts, anyhow. 

Five minutes into the ride you hear her swear and she draws her hands to her head. “Maya? What’s wrong?” You turn to her with concern.

“Jus’ a headache,” she mumbles curtly, but she’s grimacing and her hair is in her face. 

You bite your lip and you’re apprehensive. You consider saying something, but she sits up and shoots you a wan smile. “I’m okay.” She leaves it at that, and so you do, too.

Lunch rolls around, and she offers a small smile as she slides into the seat in front of you. “Hey, Riles.”

“No food?” You look at her tentatively.

“Not hungry,” She shrugs. 

“Eat!” You command.

“No!” She rolls her eyes. 

“Why isn’t Maya eating?” Farkle says as he sits down next to you. 

“I’m not hungry,” She explains with exasperation. 

“You need food,” You order.

“Not right now I don’t, end of story, okay, Riley?” She says, and she’s annoyed with you, you can tell. “Let it go,” She continues, calmer this time. 

“Let what go?” Lucas says as he sits down.

“NO!” She shouts, pointing at him. She hisses under her breath after her outburts, though, and rubs her temple with the palm of her hand.

“What’s wrong with her?” Lucas raises an eyebrow.

“I am _right_ here,” She says angrily. 

“They’re letting it go,” Farkle motions to Maya and you.

“But what’s ‘it?’”

“Maya won’t eat,” Farkle says innocently.

“I’m not hungry! Jesus _Christ_ , why is this such an issue? Don’t you have anything better to talk about?” Maya exclaims, a little too loud. Nobody says anything. She glances around, looks down. “Sorry,” She mumbles tiredly, running a hand through her hair. 

You decide to follow her instructions and let it go, but you keep your eye on her the rest of lunch. 

Hours later it’s sixth hour, and you’re separated for a god-awful fifty-five minutes. She has science, you have math. 

You’re reading now, though, (or pretending to, at least,) because you finished the assignment early. The background chatter of other kids provides a calm background to your deep thinking, which has absolutely nothing to do with Maya and what she said last night. 

The nice background is shattered, though, when someone comes into the room yelling your name.

“Riley! Riley,” Yogi pants, and he rushes over to you. 

“Yogi, what’s wrong? Breathe,” you sooth.

“Riley, something’s wrong with Maya, we were in class and she started shaking and stuff, and she turned blue, they called 911,” He says with urgency, and isn’t it funny, the lump in your throat is making it hard to breathe, and without entirely letting him finish you rush out of the room without permission and run down the hall to Maya’s class. 

She’s on a stretcher, she’s on a stretcher again and she’s convulsing or something, and it doesn’t look like she’s actually BREATHING, which is sort of necessary and important to life, and you run up to the people around her, taking her body, and you start yelling, you think, because this shouldn’t be happening, she’s _fine_ , they let her out of the hospital so she’s fine now, this shouldn’t be happening. 

You’re crying, you know, and you’re following them and begging them to tell you what’s wrong with her, and you feel your dad put his arm around you as you follow them, follow Maya, small and shaking and not looking at you, and nobody’s telling you anything at all. 

They let you and your dad come in the ambulance. He calls Katy. You cry.

They say things like ‘seizure’ and ‘traumatic brain injury,’ and you think they must be talking about someone else, because Maya is Maya, and she’s okay, she’s always okay, so this can’t actually be happening right now, because it’s Maya, it’s Maya, it’s always been Maya, and you love her, but nobody is listening to you. 

Things are blurry and everything sounds like buzzing mosquitoes on sticky July nights, and with seemingly no explanation you’re very suddenly in the waiting room with Katy and your parents, and God, are you crying. 

You see the doctor who treated her last time and you walk up to him, demanding explanations in the most intimidating way a sniveling young girl can.

“What’s wrong with her?” You shout.

“She had a seizure. We think it’s caused by her concussion, which was resulting from a traumatic brain injury,” He explains calmly. 

“You said she’d be fine! It was only a concussion! You said it was the least of our worries, aren’t you supposed to monitor those things?” Your voice is cracking now. 

“We did monitor it. She was stable, so we released her, but secondary effects of TBI can develop up to five days later, going undetected until symptoms come up. We’re doing MRI scans now, we’ll tell you if we find anything,” he sounds bored of you, but he has no right, because doesn’t he know how important Maya is? Doesn’t he care that when she smiles at you, you see stars? Doesn’t any greater power care about how you feel about this?

You sit back down. 

It is absolutely endless. You think it must be years before he comes out, though your phone only says it’s been thirty-four minutes. You think your phone is full of shit.

“We’ve got the results,” He says steadily, looking at all four of you. “She’s had a brain hemorrhage from a result of the damage her head took. She has brain swelling from her body’s attempt to heal the injury. There’s a solid swelling of clotted blood, so she’ll need aspiration surgery, which involves drilling a hole into her skull and using a needle to drain the blood and take the swelling down.”

“Brain hemorrhage?!” You shriek, and he winces. 

“Yes.”

“But.. but..” You’re only grasping at straws now. 

“When can we see her?” Katy asks with a wavering voice.

“Twenty minutes. I need you to sign papers, authorizing her surgery,” He says. She nods. 

You pull out your phone. _Can you die from brain hemorrhages?_ That’s the first thing you Google. The answer is overwhelmingly _yes_. 

You keep going. Brain hemorrhages can cause permanent brain damage, if not death, under the scenario that they’re not treated fast enough. 

It’s been four days since she got hit. You start biting your nails. You haven’t done that in seven years. 

You also learn that traumatic brain injuries can cause things like comas, paralysis, loss of thinking ability, and need for all kinds of different therapies just to be able to be a person again.

What would you do without her? What could you ever do in a world where there was no Maya Hart? 

You don’t want to know. You can’t know, and you love her, and this can’t happen. 

You’re shaking now. You keep going anyways. 

You look up the risks of the surgery she’s getting. Infection. Bleeding and blood clots. Pneumonia. Seizures. Muscle weakness. Brain swelling. 

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening. She was fine. She was perfectly fine, and they let her go, and now she’s going to die, and you can’t _deal_ with that. Doesn’t it matter that you’re in love with her, and she doesn’t know? Doesn’t that mean anything at all? 

You put your phone away. Your face is hot and salty from tears. Your throat aches. You want to see Maya. Does she know about the surgery? She must be terrified. If she’s even awake. Maybe she’s crying. That thought scares you. 

The doctor comes out. “You can see her before her surgery,” He tells the four of you. You get up, but nobody else does. 

You look at them. “You first,” Katy says, which must kill her, but she’s telling you to go talk to her on your own, and you appreciate that. 

You walk in, expecting to see Maya crying or scared or _something_.

“ _It was only a concussion, Maya_ ,” She mimics you with a smirk, and you absolutely explode.

“What?! You think this is a joke, Maya? You just nearly died, you know what he said to me, he told me you had a BRAIN HEMORRHAGE, and I was just sitting in the waiting room for an hour looking up what the hell that meant and trying to figure out why this was happening to you, and if you’d be okay, and I was sitting there feeling SORRY for you, thinking about how terrified you must be, and I’m so scared for you, and I come in here to see you before someone puts a HOLE in your HEAD, I come to see you for what might be the last time, and you think it’s funny?” You’re screaming at her suddenly, any trace of tears replaced by blind rage.

“Quiet, you’re hurting my head. It’s bleeding, you know,” She says in a small voice with a slight smile, and she’s still not getting it.

“God, Maya, why can’t you just act like a normal person, for once? You could DIE, and you’re smiling, why can’t you take this seriously?! Your mom is out there signing wavers that say if you DIE it’s not the surgeons fault and you’re in here acting like it’s funny that you knew something was wrong and didn’t say anything? Like it’s funny that I love you and you might die? Don’t you even CARE? God, what’s wrong with you?!” You’re saying the kind of things you’ll regret saying later, but you don’t care. 

She’s stopped smiling now, and she’s looking at the wall to your left. “I’m sorry,” She mutters, but her voice cracks a little. 

She sighs, tries again. “Listen, you think this is fucking _easy_? It’s not. You think it’s easy to have a CAR barrel into you, and think you’re gonna die in the middle of the fucking street, and then you wake up confused and broken with people talking all around you? And then you’re supposed to be okay, and in the middle of class you start having a seizure?! And then I’m in a stretcher again and I can’t breathe and I’m thinking, ‘okay, this is it, I’m done,’ and then I’m in a hospital again and someone’s saying that my brain is BLEEDING? And they’re gonna drill a hole in my head? And I could die? And you burst in, and you tell me I’m gonna die, too, and you’re yelling at me, and- and- I don’t know, but this isn’t exactly fucking fun, Riley, and it’s not easy, so what am I supposed to do? Of course I’m laughing, what am I supposed to do, this is fucking scary, I could die and it’s fucking _terrifying_ , so don’t say there’s something wrong with ME!” She’s angry but it seems flimsy, and she looks like she’s very focused on not crying, but it’s not entirely working.

You deflate. You sit down on her bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.. Yeah, I did. But I didn’t know you were scared. I’m sorry. I love you, and I can’t lose you,” You say, slow now. You’ve both been talking fast, so you slow down. 

“You really think I’m gonna die?”

“Not really,” you breathe, “A hole in the head couldn’t kill you.” You smile a little, and so does she. You wonder if you’re lying.

“Love you too, Riles..” She says softly. 

The doctor comes in the room. He looks at Maya. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Last night,” She says.

“We can proceed with the surgery today, then,” He says. “You have ten minutes, then we’re starting. The other ones are coming in now.” With that, he walks out, and the adults walk in. Katy rushes to Maya’s side as you get up. 

You excuse yourself to the delivery room and sit down. You stare at the wall. Maya could die, and there’s nothing you can do. This situation is out of your control. You hate that.

Soon the adults come back out. Katy tells you they’re starting the surgery. You nod okay and pretend not to be an utter wreck.

You pull out your phone again. You pull out your phone again, because apparently, you’re some sort of masochist. 

Twenty to thirty percent of patients regain full or partial use of their brains after surgery for blood clots in or around the brain. 

So Maya has a thirty percent chance AT MOST of regaining even part of her brain. 

You shut down your phone and try to think of anything else at all, and somehow your mind stumbles upon a story your father told you.

It was about the Mountain Girl he kissed, and how he decided between her and your mom. 

You don’t remember all of it, just that him realizing he couldn’t live without Topanga is what made him sure he loved her.

You can’t live without Maya. In a world you can’t control, with things constantly changing and moving, that is all you know for sure, stable and steady and always there. Maya. 

And what can that mean for you? You try not to think about that, either. 

You don’t know how long it is before the same doctor comes out to talk to you.

“The surgery went as expected. Swelling has gone down, bleeding has stop. She’s waking up now, which is a good sign. She’ll be groggy, as she’s been on anesthetic. Outlook seems good, in my opinion. We’ll have to wait until she wakes up to see, but I think she’ll make a quick and entire recovery. It was a relatively minor issue, our main concern for her health was that we wouldn’t be able to properly locate the blood clot with the needle, but since we did, I think she’ll be good as new,” he says with a slight smile. 

He leads all of you into the room. Maya is blinking, slow and tired. “Maya,” you breathe. You’ve been holding your breath. How long have you been holding your breath? It feels like three hours, but that’s probably impossible. 

“Mm. Riley,” She smiles sloppily with half closed eyes. 

“You’re okay.” You’re crying again, but it’s different this time.

“Looks like it,” She mumbles. 

You sit down next her. “I’m glad you’re okay, Maya,” you smile, and you grab the hand that doesn’t have a cast on it. 

“Ditto.”

You laugh and wipe away hot tears. 

Things will be fine. And you’re looking at her, here, now, bruised and broken and still barely conscious, and God, is she lovely, and God, you love her so much. What would you ever do without Maya Hart?

You’re lucky. You don’t have to find out, and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, it'd be awesome if you left a comment, I like feedback. I take fic requests, so if there's something you want me to write, tell me about it at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	4. Getting Over Maya Hart and The Color Beige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maya is lovesick, Lucas is an idiot, and Riley believes him, Farkle is Switzerland, and the Nurse? Well, the Nurse is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might retcon half the things in this chapter for the sake of continuing the story. After this it's gonna be fuckery half of the time tbh, along with wild angst. I hope you enjoy. It's in Maya's POV. I feel like I didn't do a good job capturing her character. Sorry.

You wish you could shut yourself the fuck up, but apparently, that’s not exactly how it works.

It wouldn’t even be this big issue if it weren’t for the fact that you’re by yourself, wasting away on bed rest in a hospital room, and of course you’re thinking about _Her_.

With those stupidly adorable big doe eyes and her irritatingly gorgeous smile and her unfairly cute laugh. This is dumb.

This is dumb, you remind yourself, because first of all, she doesn’t feel the same way. You almost blew it twice, you know, and you can skirt by on the excuse that it was late or you were drugged up and didn’t know what you were doing, but what about if something like that slips out when it’s broad daylight? What excuse can you pull then, huh? If you fuck up and say something midday, she won’t just forget it, or think it’s a dream, either.

And then everything’s just as easily ruined, because you know she’s straight, and you know she likes Lucas, too, and if you fuck up, it’ll make things weird. You’re not new to this, you know that’s how it works. 

You sigh. She’s wonderful, though. Nobody can deny that. She’s the sort of wonderful that deserves to be yelled about from a rooftop of a vandalized building or something, like every pretentious teen movie you’ve ever seen, but you’re not saying anything. 

Which, regardless, is for the best, but even so.. It’s not easy. You laugh, but it’s a little sour through your teeth.

It’s not that you don’t _want_ to tell someone, but how could you ever? You couldn’t, because everybody’s got a big mouth and someone would squeal. 

Why are you even thinking about this? This is dumb. You roll your eyes and then focus on the ceiling. You’ve never seen a ceiling so utterly beige. I mean, sure, you’ve seen plenty of beige ceilings before- you’ve been to a bank, hello- but a ceiling this beige? Unbeatabley beige. Unbearably beige. Unbelievably beige. It’s just ridiculous.

You slap yourself on the forehead. Bed rest is going to drive you insane. 

“Peaches!” You hear Riley’s lilting voice chirp from the hallway. 

“Hey, Riles,” you call back. 

“I brought the boys,” She says with a smile, and enters, Lucas and Farkle following her in tow like lost puppies. 

You let out a low moan and slam your head against the back of the wall. “Ow SHIT! FUCK, FUCK!” You keep forgetting about that whole ‘bleeding brain vessels’ thing. Hard to be a dramatic, angst riled teen when you nearly split your skull in two the other day.

“Maya, oh my God,” Riley gasps, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry.. I’m fine.. I’ve been told I have a thick skull… Get it?” You mumble weakly, and you’re done for.

God, how many times can you make a fool of yourself over the course of ten minutes? 

“We get it, Maya,” Riley looks at you with amused pity. You sigh.

“Why’re _they_ here?” You grumble.

“We wanted to visit,” Farkle explains.

“I appreciate the notion, but get out,” you point at the door for them. You’re nothing if not helpful.

“Maya, be nice,” Riley says. God, if you had a dollar for every time she said that.. Well, you could pay for all these medical bills.

“We’re not leaving, you’re stuck with us,” Lucas says, taking a seat. 

You shoot Riley a look of misery. They’re trying to be nice, but you’re not in the mood right now, and anyways, you’re still too stuck in your own head about Riley to partake in any witty banter right now. 

“Hey, Maya?” Farkle glances in your direction.

“Hm?” 

“Why does the nurse think Riley is your girlfriend?”

“ _WHAT_ I-” You sputter out before erupting into a fit of coughing and choking over literal air. 

What the fuck? Oh, geez, your nurse called Riley your girlfriend when they walked in. That’s the last think you need. 

Correction, the last thing you need is to be more or less choking right now. 

“OWFUCKFUCKFUCK,” you choke out in between painful coughs and dry heaves. Yeah, the whole ‘broken rib’ thing will take a little getting used to.

“Maya? Maya, I’m gonna go get a doctor or something, I-” Riley starts, and she’s concerned, you don’t want her to be concerned.

“Nopleasedon’tI’mfineI’mfine,” you manage, but only barely. Fuck, fuck, this hurts a lot more than you thought it would, but now that stupid Farkle with his stupid ‘girlfriend’ comment got you started, you can’t stop.

“Fine, but I’m at least getting water,” She says with furrowed brows, and you nod a little. 

She leaves the room swiftly, leaving you alone to die in front of Lucas and Farkle. 

You keep coughing, and meanwhile they just look at you. You glare at them as best as you can while your body is shaking.

Finally, after who knows how long, you manage to actually breathe, and your coughing calms down. 

“Jesus CHRIST,” You breathe, slow and easy. 

“Maya, you’re blue,” Farkle says. 

“Holy shit Sherlock, tell me more,” You spit, because really, this is all his fault anyways. 

But you can’t help thinking about what he said, and you’d guess it’s because your brain hates you. Maybe it’s holding a grudge after that whole brain injury thing?

That’s not the point. The point is that your nurse thought Riley was your girlfriend. Riley Matthews. Riley Matthews, your girlfriend. 

And all the sudden, you’ve gotta tell someone. No, you don’t, actually, but hindsight is 20/20, and you’re pretty dizzy, so common sense eludes you.

Because you love her so much, and you’ve been not saying anything for so long, and so of course you need to say something. (You don’t, but like I said, hindsight.)

Fuck it.

“IhavetotellyouguyssomethingI’minlovewithRiley,” You spit out, and of course you immediately regret it, because holy shit, how dumb are you, and didn’t you decide this was the opposite of the right thing to do? Didn’t you? 

Fuck. 

“What?” Lucas says, with raised eyebrows, but you bet he heard you, anyways.

“Nothing,” you look at the ground. How’re you getting out of this one?

“She said she’s in love with Riley,” Farkle looks at you thoughtfully. 

“No I didn’t,” You protest. You’ve got no chance. You messed up. 

“Yes, you did. You’re in love with Riley. That’s what you said,” He says. He’s staring at you.

“Whatever,” You huff. You’re losing. 

“You love her. It’s so obvious! I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner!” Farkle is pacing now, because his little genius brain just can’t take not knowing things.

“You can’t tell her,” You say, and it’s in your most threatening voice. 

“Maya,” Lucas looks at you. “Did you get any brain damage when you got hit?”

“What? Sure, Huckleberry, I’m all kinds of fucked up in the head, what do you mean?” 

“Are you… are you sure it’s not the head injury that’s making you say that? I’ve read somewhere that head injuries can cause changes in someone’s perception of things,” He says gently, and it feels like he’s patronizing you.

“What? No! Fuck you, I-”

“What happened while I was getting water?” Riley calls from the hallway. She walks in with a tray of paper cups on it.

“Maya turned blue,” Farkle volunteers quickly. He shoots you a look of sympathy, and you give a small smile. 

That Farkle kid, he’s not as dumb as you think.

Hour later, your nurse comes in and shoos them out. They leave after saying their goodbyes. Riley promises to visit before school. You know that’ll make her late. 

And once again, you are alone in the most beige room you’ve ever seen. It’s disgusting. _Beige_. Of course.

_**Riley’s POV** _

“Riley, can we talk?” 

You turn around. Lucas is behind you, even though this isn’t his way home, and you know that. “Sure, what’s up?” You look at him. He walks a bit closer to you.

“Well.. Maya told me something. And I think she’s going to tell you the same thing. And I feel like I should warn you,” He explains kindly.

You freeze. “What’d she tell you, Lucas?”

“She said she’s in love with you. And I think she’s going to try to tell you, too, but.. I don’t think she means it. I think it has something to do with her concussion and everything. I know that kind of thing changes people’s perceptions of things, and, well..” He trails off. 

You look at the ground. “Oh. Thanks for telling me,” You force a smile and turn around. 

Of course. How did you not see that coming? The past couple days she’s been saying some… _stuff_ , but every time she’s been barely coherent. It’s not surprising to think her injury is throwing her off.

And yet, you thought for a minute that maybe, just maybe, you had a chance. 

You don’t. Your eyes sting, and you blink hard a couple of times. Maya doesn’t feel that way about you. That’s just a fact. You can’t take advantage of her being hurt. You have to stop acting like this with her, like you’re something more.

Okay. No more holding hands. No more romantic nicknames. No more lingering stares, and no more unnecessary touching. You sigh. 

How hard can getting over Maya Hart possibly be?

_**Maya’s POV again**_

Even the fucking clock is beige. Is beige even a color? You want to punch something. 

None of that matters. The point is that Riley is fifteen minutes late to visit you. You did tell her she didn’t have to, but it’s so Not Riley to skip out on that, especially when she promised she’d come. 

You slump against the wall. 

It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Suddenly it’s many hours later, and you don’t mean to be _that guy_ or anything, but “Riles, why weren’t you here this morning?” 

Yeah, that’s the first thing you say to her. Maya Hart, master of words. Right.

“Huh? Oh. I forgot,” Riley says curtly, thin smile pasted on her face. 

You think she’s lying. You don’t mention it. 

You keep talking. She does, too. But it’s stiff and cautious. Not like it should be. You stop paying attention after the sixth tense silence that arises. She leaves early tonight.

The next morning you’re ready to kill someone, because who’s here but the boys?

Lucas and Farkle walk in. Riley isn’t with them. 

“You!” You spit, getting on your feet. You nearly topple over as the blood rushes to your head, but you try to ignore it. You take a few unsteady steps towards Lucas and grab him by the shirt so that he’s eye-level with you.

“Did you fucking tell her?” 

“No.” He looks in your eyes, calm and steady.

“Don’t lie.”

“..Fine. Yeah, I did, but only because I thought you’d tell her yourself, and I knew that would make it weird between you guys if she thought you meant it. I didn’t want anything to get ruined.”

“Are you KIDDING ME? You ruined EVERYTHING!” You shove him away. You’re light headed, but this is more important. 

“And _you_ ,” You point at Farkle. “Why didn’t you stop him?” You’re approaching him now, and he’s shrinking away.

“I’M SWITZERLAND, I’M SWITZERLAND,” He exclaims. “I had nothing to do with it! I wasn’t there, don’t hurt me!” 

You sigh and sit back down. 

“Leave,” you breathe shakily. 

“Maya-” Lucas starts. 

“Leave. Now.”

Lucas sighs and exits the room. “Farkle, tell Riley to visit me after school,” You say. He nods with an understanding half-smile. 

He follows Lucas, leaving you alone in a melting beige room.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hi,” Riley says, and your chest constricts. She sits down on your bed. 

“Um. So. There’s something I need to discuss with you,” You explain.

She looks at you sadly. “Maya, don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, you don’t mean.”

You have half a mind to throw something, frankly, but you manage to control yourself. “No. Fuck Lucas, okay? Lucas is wrong. Lucas is an idiot. Don’t listen to him. I love you, okay? I’ve loved you forever.” Your voice is shaky. What are you doing? This is dumb. Abort, abort! 

She looks at you. “But...”

“Shut up. I mean, uh. That’s not what I meant. I meant don’t. I’m in love with you, okay?” You say, trying to muster confidence, but it’s not really working. 

“I.. I love you too, Maya,” She says, and she laughs, but she kind of looks like she’s about to cry.

In this moment of absolute and total clarity, you know exactly what to do, for once in your life. 

And you do it. You get the girl, and you kiss her, because if you know one thing, it’s that the earth and the ground and the nurse outside the room all want you to do this, everything is screaming for you to kiss her in this ugly, beige hospital room with beeping machines. 

And that’s all you know, so you kiss her.

And boy, does she kiss you back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment! Also, I take requests, so if you want me to write something, feel free to ask me for it at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	5. And If In The End We End Up Together, It's Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are we?" She says. God, what a cliche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you very much to Katie for giving me an ending and helping me shape the plot

First of all, this isn’t your fault, and you didn’t start this whole issue. Hear that? For once it’s not your fault! 

But maybe you should digress. Yeah, that’s fair. See, said thing that’s not your fault, that’s the fact that nothing’s happening at all.

Maybe that doesn’t make sense. See, you’d think after you confess your love to someone, and kiss them, maybe something would, oh, you don’t know, CHANGE? And that maybe said someone would stop introducing you as just their friend? 

Apparently not, though, because the two of you are more or less pretending last week never happened, and that you’re just friends, and see, that’s not on you. That’s on Riley, because she called you her friend to some cashier, and now she’s not acknowledging what happened. 

Okay, maybe you’re reading into things a little, but even so. 

Well, see, it’s not like things are _bad_ , per say, things are the same as they’ve always been. Which is good, they’ve always been good.

Whatever. You shake your head, perfectly in time with the thunder, rumbling low and dull beneath the Manhattan streets.

The sky breaks and you’re drenched. It takes all of three seconds. “Thunder,” She says cheerily, but only because she’s got a raincoat on.

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. You like rain, you do, but you do not like long subway rides while you’re drenched, and still considerably less when it’s November and you’re only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. (Much against her protest, of course.)

“Let’s make a run for it,” you say, even though you’re already soaked to the core. 

“Maya, the doctor said to take it easy,” Riley says. “That means no running.”

“You think the doctor wants me out in freezing rain?” 

She pauses, weighing the damage. “Fine, but run gently,” Riley says. 

The two of you take off running towards the subway station. You make it in, but keep running, since your stop is going to leave any second. 

And then, all of the sudden, because of course, you slide on your heel and fucking FACE PLANT- but it gets better- on the middle of the fucking subway tracks. 

You don’t even get up. This is it. You’ve had enough. You were supposed to die, and so you accept it. 

Meanwhile, Riley is screaming. “Maya! MAYA! Oh my God, get up, MAYA! MAYA!” She starts dragging your limp body off of the subway tracks. 

She pulls you up into a standing position. “WHY DO THESE THINGS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME?!” You scream. What did you do? What made you deserve this?

You wipe some blood from under your nose. “Fuck,” you hiss. 

“Oh, jeez, Maya,” Riley looks at you with wide eyes.

“Is it bad?” You groan. She nods, biting her lip with furrowed brows. 

“Uhm- here, I have tissues in my backpack,” Riley says, pulling them out. “Here, sit down,” She directs you to a bench. 

“Riley, we’re gonna be late,” you say, but the n’s probably come out like d’s, seeing as blood is filling up in your nasal passages. 

“I feel like getting on a subway with someone who’s bleeding makes you a target to be robbed? I think I read that somewhere,” She says as she gently tilts your chin back with the tips of her fingers. 

“Blood is getting in your hair,” She grimaces. She pushes it out of the way and starts trying to tend to your bleeding face with the tissues. 

“Does it hurt?” She asks, looking down at you. 

“’S fine,” You mumble.

“It doesn’t look fine, considering your blood’s on my hands,” She says.

“I always knew it’d be you who killed me. Lucky for you, I don’t have aids,” you smirk. 

“Seriously.”

“Well the other day my literal brain was doing the same thing, so I think in comparison, this is probably an alright option,” you shrug. She rolls her eyes. 

“Whens someone’s nose is bleeding, are you supposed to put their head up, or down?” She asks.

“How in the world would I know that?” 

“You do stuff, you get nosebleeds, what do you normally do when you get nose bleeds?” She shrugs.

“I wipe it off on my sleeve and wait for it to stop. How have you never had a nosebleed?” You ask incredulously. 

“I skip when I walk,” She sighs wistfully, blotting at your nose.

“Has it stopped yet?” You groan.

“Umh- yeah, sort of. I think? Yeah, it looks like it. You’re kind of a mess, though,” She laughs.

“Why am I not surprised?” You sigh with a small shake of your head. 

Riley grabs your hand and you find a cart to board that’s going to your destination. 

It takes you an extra twenty minutes to get to Farkle’s house, where everyone is waiting for the two of you. You’re celebrating the fact that you’re not in the hospital anymore, but it’s only gonna be, like, ‘movie night,’ because the doctor said to stay rested, and Riley took that a little too literally. 

“We’re here,” Riley shouts as the two of you enter his massive house. Turning the corner, you enter Farkle’s in-home theater, where everyone else is waiting for Riley and you.

“Who’d you kill?” Zay says when he sees you, covered in bloot.

“Everything hates me,” you grumble, taking a seat. 

“She fell,” Riley clarifies. 

“Onto the subway tracks. I almost died. Again. The world’s out to get me,” you say.

“That’s unlikely. You just need to be less reckless,” Farkle says.

“DID I ASK?” You turn to glare at him. 

“Okay, the world is trying to kill you, feel better?” He puts his hands up in surrender. 

“It’s not entirely impossible, you know. Murphy’s law: What can go wrong, will go wrong,” Smackle says. “Though it’s only been three times. We’d have to see if anything more comes of it, or if you’re just having a week full of bad coincidences.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d avoid planes. Or anything that moves, for that matter,” Lucas says. 

“Reassuring,” you roll your eyes.

“I have the perfect movie,” Zay says with excitement. “Final Destination!” 

“You think that’s a good idea?” Riley says. 

“It’s relevant,” he shrugs. 

“Whatever, let’s go for it,” you say. 

As it turns out, Final Destination is a movie about a couple of people who cheat death, but end up dying anyways, because they were supposed to die.

Halfway through the movie, you make an executive decision. You grab the remote, switch off the TV, and say, “Let’s do absolutely anything else!”

“Hit to close to home?” Lucas looks at you, amused.

“No, I’m just bored,” you huff. This is a lie. 

“Maya, you’re not gonna die,” Riley assures you. 

“I know,” You smile into the distance, “I’m an invincible goddess. I can never die.”

Thunder cracks before anyone can respond, and just like that, the lights go out. 

“Farkle, what the fuck, why’d your power go out?” You turn to him.

“The storm. A tree probably messed with a power line,” he says.

“But you’re _rich_.”

“I can’t control the weather, woman! Yet, I mean. But my dad’s working on it,” he tells you. 

“I.. You know, Farkle, you’re lucky you’re a nerd, because if you weren’t, you’d be one of those guys whose like, _wait ‘till my father hears about this!_ ” You shake your head. 

“What time is it?” Riley asks. 

Someone turns on their phone, illuminating the room a little. “8:47,” Smackle says.

“We’ve gotta go, anyways, then,” Riley says, “it’s only gonna get worse.”

“You’re gonna walk home in the rain?” Farkle asks. 

“Maybe the subway will be working,” Riley says cheerfully. The two of you bid your goodbyes and exit Farkle’s building, right into the pouring rain. 

“Oh, geez,” you raise your eyebrows. Now this is just ridiculous. It’s coming down in sheets, and really, it should be too cold for rain. Like, this should be ice. But it’s not, and you can feel it seep in to your bones.

Riley looks at you. “Maya, take my raincoat,” She says, starting to take it off. 

“No. Absolutely not. Keep it on, I don’t need it,” you insist. 

“Take it,” She demands. 

“No, Riles, I’m already soaked, at least one of us should be dry. Save yourself,” you continue, stepping away.

“But.. Well, I guess.” She sighs, bites her lip.

The two of you start walking. “Think the subway’s working?” She asks. 

“Not a chance.”

It’s dark, but from time to time lightning makes everything an unnatural white-purple. Why didn’t one of you think to bring an umbrella?

You know, if you get struck by lightning, you’re gonna be pretty fucking pissed. 

You and Riley walk side by side in silence, letting the breaking skies speak for you instead. 

For a solid ten minutes. World record. 

“Maya,” Riley says abruptly after so much silence, “we need to talk.”

“When a Mommy and Daddy love each other very much,” you hum with a smirk. 

“I’m serious,” she stops walking. She stops walking, and why are you not surprised? Of course Riley Matthews would stop walking in the middle of the worst storm of the year to talk about what you can only assume is _feelings_.

“What do we need to talk about, Riles,” you sigh.

“We kissed,” She says, looking in your eyes very hard.

“Yeah. I remember.”

“We haven’t talked about it,” She continues.

“We’re talking about it now,” you say, only looking at her from the corner of your eyes. 

“What are we?” She says. God, what a cliché. 

“I dunno, Riles. You called me your friend,” you say, and it sounds a little bitter. 

“We are friends. Aren’t we?”

“Well. Yeah,” you nod. “But isn’t something supposed to.. change?”

“I like us very much. I like the way we are,” She says.

“I like us, too.”

“I don’t see why things have to change. I mean, I guess it’s different now, but I like the way we are. I like being your friend. I like kissing you. What are we?” She sounds lost. Funny, you thought that would be you.

Guess not. 

“I’m Maya. You’re Riley. We’re Maya and Riley. It’s that simple. And so we’ll be us, okay? Things don’t have to be different right away. I love you,” You say. Water is getting caught on the tips of your eyelashes, and you can barely see, but God, is she beautiful in the midst of this chaotic rain.

“I love you, too, Maya,” She smiles.

“Alright. So we’ll be us, like we’ve always been. That’s easy. And then we’ll watch, and we’ll wait, and we’ll see what happens. Let’s see what happens, okay?” 

“This is what happens,” She says with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, and because she’s Riley Matthews, she leans down, and in the middle of a New York street during the worst storm of the year, like every pretentious teen movie you’ve ever seen, she kisses you, and it feels like you are in the middle of everything that ever was, and you swear, it’s perfect. 

Do you even need to say that you kiss her back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment, and if you want to request a fic, or just tell me what to do next in this one, talk to me at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	6. The Best Abstract Painting Riley's Ever Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Jackson knows too much, Olive and Sharon are in love, Maya is a mess, and Riley finally lets go of purple cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2:18 in the morning, but I didn't want to break my streak of one fic a day, so here's this. I had fun with this one. I love Sharon and Olive a lot.

“I’m sure you were all very aware of the storm that took place over this weekend, yes?” Mr. Jackson is pacing around the front of the class. The class hums in an indefinite monotone. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, rain is one of the more difficult setting scenes to capture. It’s messy, moving, and wild. Coincidentally, so are cities, like this one of your own. I want you to paint a city during rain, and show me what it’s like when two messy things meet. We got a new shipping of paint, as you can see. There’s cans full, and they’re open, so be careful. Get yourself a plastic cup and fill it up. Go!”

You smile. Could there have been a more perfect thing to paint? You roll up the sleeves of your smock and approach the table of paint with Riley. You get yellows, grays, a little red, and blue.

Riley gets purple. Notably, though, she grabs more than one shade, along with black and white. Even a little blue.

“Purple cat?” You smirk.

“..Not quite,” She smiles.

You sit down. You know exactly what you’re gonna do, and after setting down your paint, you get to work. 

You start with gray; it’s darker, it’s easier to start with. Gray, and you’ll need a lot of it. 

You start painting, and it’s jagged and messy- paint is getting all over you, but you don’t mind. And you know what? Your painting is turning out exactly how you imagined it. 

Twenty minutes in and your hands start to burn, but you ignore it and start working with the reds. 

You’re kind of in a trance, trying to make it perfect. The reds don’t take long at all, but you need to start with lighting and reflections, which is going to require white. 

You didn’t get any white, and you definitely don’t feel like getting up right now. “Riles? Got any extra white?” You glance in her direction. 

“I do. I’m finished,” She smiles. You look at her painting and.. It’s good. It’s pretty good, actually, and it’s certainly not a cat. It’s mostly all purple, though. 

It’s a rainy scene, purple rain on purple buildings falling into purple puddles, and in the corner, leaning against a building, looking at the sky, is a silhouette. It’s blue. 

“Riles, this is.. This is really good. Who’s that?” You point to the silhouette. 

She smiles. “You.”

She hands you the cup of paint. “Thanks, Riles, I-” You start, but she interrupts you.

“Maya, what’s wrong with your arms?” She says. It sounds like she’s trying to be calm, but it also sounds like it’s not working. 

You look down. They’re bumpy and red and kind of raw-looking, and you realize for the first time just how much they hurt.

“Uh. Oh. I don’t know. Whatever, it’s fine, I’ll deal with it later,” you shake your head. 

“Maya, that’s absolutely the opposite of fine. You’re not the slightest bit concerned about that?” Riley is exasperated now.

“Riley, it’s fine, I’m alright. It doesn’t even hurt, it’s nothing. I just want to finish this painting, okay?” You try to persuade her. “It’s probably the paint. I’ve never used this kind before, I’m probably just having a little allergic reaction.”

“It doesn’t hurt?” She relaxes a little.

“Not even a little,” You lie through your teeth. She looks at you curiously, and then, without warning, just up and slaps your arm.

“OW _FUCK_! Riley, what the hell was that?” You shake your burning arm.

“IT DOES HURT. I knew it. Why are you so stubborn? Go to the nurse,” Riley commands.

“Only a little, Riley, I’m fine, I promise you. Just let me finish this painting, I’m nearly done, I’ll go at the end of class, okay?” 

She frowns, but complies begrudgingly.

It’s not five minutes later, and all you need to do is add the yellow, really, and it’s looking so good, but of course something happens, because something always happens. 

“Maya, it’s so much worse already,” She says. She’s right, but you’d never admit it. 

It’s burning, like _really_ burning, and the bumps are a lot bigger and darker. 

“There’s, like, thirty five minutes left of class, Riley. I think I can make it,” You assure her, going for the yellow.

“Maya. You need to go to the nurse,” She says sternly. 

“I’m fine!” You exclaim. 

“Go!” She mimics your tone of voice. You sigh. If you don’t go, she’ll take you herself. Muttering under your breath, you get up and walk towards the door. 

“I’m going, see? Are you hap-” You start, turning around to look at her, but with that, your elbow bumps the table, and of course, of COURSE the paint cans all topple over and avalanche wet paint on you.

“MAYA! Oh my God, do you WANT to die?” She screams, and meanwhile you’re just kind of standing there, covered head to toe in paint, because Oh, my God, OF COURSE.

With no warning, you feel yourself being lifted up bridal style, but you can’t actually SEE anything, because, see, isn’t it funny, YOU’RE COVERED IN PAINT.

“Riley, what’re you doing, put me down,” you mutter, “how are you even carrying me? Why are you so strong?”

“Please, you weigh nothing,” She says. “Where’s the nurse’s office?” 

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Excuse me! Excuse me, hi, you’re very tall, do you know where the nurse’s office is?” You hear her say.

What a sight the two of you must be.

“So, I’m… I’m not gonna ask, actually, because I get the feeling I don’t want to know, but take a left, past the office, it’s the first door on the right,” you hear a girl say. 

“Thank you,” Riley chirps, and she starts running. 

You feel her swerve and she sets you down. “Hi? Hello? We have a situation,” Riley chirps. “Here, wipe your face,” Riley says, handing you some tissues, you think. 

You start wiping at your eyes and mouth first, and try and get what you can off the rest of your face before it starts to really burn. 

You’re in the little waiting area of the nurse’s office. Riley starts pounding on the bell on the table. 

“Huh. Never been in one of these,” you say thoughtfully, glancing around the room.

“Maya, you’ve never been in a school nurse’s office? Not even when we were in middle school?” Riley looks at you kind of sideways.

“The middle school had a nurses office?” You raise your eyebrows.

“I- You know, Maya, you’re kind of a mess,” Riley shakes her head tiredly. 

“Thanks, it’s the paint,” You mutter. 

“Would you kids stop pounding that bell, good Lord. I don’t have the time in the day for this, and three kids have thrown up in just this past hour because of goddamn flu season, and when I took this job, I thought one day I’d be working in a-” The nurse turns the corner. 

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees the two of you. “Oh. Oh, no. I’m too old for this. I’m too old for a little girl dripping paint in the middle of my carpet. Do you know what you look like, child? I’m too old.” She shakes her head.

“Um, hi, Miss Nurse, my friend here is allergic to this certain paint, as we recently found out. And uh. As you can see, we sort of have an issue,” Riley says.

“Damn right we have an issue. I quit. I’m done. I have my 411k, this job doesn’t pay shit, and I’m done dealing with whiny brats throwing up on my shoes, and I’m especially done with this child covered in paint. I quit. Fuck it, Sharon will handle you. SHARON! Bye,” The nurse raises her hands in defeat and walks out of the door.

“I mean… I don’t know about you, but I liked her,” you laugh. 

A lady comes out. “Where’s Olive? Did she quit again?” She sighs.

“Yeah,” Riley says. 

“I love Olive, you know, but she’s kind of all over the place,” Sharon shrugs. “So’s this one, apparently. What happened here? This isn’t really my area of expertise. I can call the janitor?”

“Maya’s allergic to this paint,” Riley sighs, holding up your arm, covered in hives and bumps. 

“Oh, boy. Step into my office,” Sharon says with a sigh. “Sit here, I’ll be back in a minute.” She leaves the room.

“Maya?” Riley asks.

“Yes, Riley?” You look at her. 

“I’m sorry you can’t finish your painting. And I’m sorry you’re allergic to paint. And I’m sorry that bad things are happening to you,” She says gently, putting an arm around you. You lean into it. 

“Whatever. There’s still some class time left. I need ten minutes, tops. She’ll give me, like, water, and I’ll go back, finish it up real quick, it’ll be fine.”

“On the bright side of this, though, you’re the prettiest piece of art I’ve ever seen,” Riley smiles.

Sharon walks back into the room with a bottle. “This should help. Put it on any exposed skin that has paint on it,” Sharon says. 

“After that, can I go back to class?” You sigh. “Oh, my God, I’m scaring myself. In what world do I want to go BACK to class?” You mutter. 

“Are you kidding, dear? I can’t send you back like that. Especially not after the paint got all over your face. I’m gonna have to call your mother, dear, and I’d advise you see a doctor,” Sharon says.

Riley hands you a decorative pillow from the table. You bury your head in it and scream at the top of your lungs.

Your mom wasn’t pleased that you ruined your jeans, but she was a lot more concerned about the state of your face by the time she got there. Riley acted like you leaving without her was the end of the world. Sharon had to pry her off you. 

By the time you woke up earlier this morning, though, you were fine, which you took to be a good sign. You brought a pair of gloves to school today for the sake of finishing your painting.

“Riley.. This improvement is.. well, I don’t know what to say, other than I’m thrilled it’s not a cat. You had to do purple rain, though, didn’t you?” Mr. Jackson shakes his head, looking at Riley’s art. 

“Prince forever, man,” She looks him dead in the eye. 

He sighs. “Of course. Still, I like it. Especially the figure. Found your muse, Matthews?” He raises an eye.

“You could say that,” She says, smile dancing on her lips. 

“And Maya,” he starts. The painting is perfect. It turned out exactly how you hoped.

It’s chaos, primarily; Rain and wind and city lights blinking red against angry clouds and breaking skies. A street full of dark puddles and crashing pellets of rain. But right in the middle? A gold, glowing beacon of light, sort of shaped like a person. And next to it? You, in washed out cool colors, blues, dark greens and grays, and you’re reaching out your arm, touching the golden thing. At the tips of the extended fingers, there’s golden light glinting, just a little.

“Wow, Maya. I’m impressed. All of this disorder and mayhem, and right in the middle, a little bit of controlled peace. I have _absolutely no idea_ who THAT could be inspired by,” He says statistically, eying Riley, who shrugs guiltily.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter. 

“And that’s you?” 

“Yeah.”

“You know you’re not nearly that tall, right?” He says with raised eyebrows. 

“LISTEN, GIMME A BREAK,” you throw your hands up in the air. Riley giggles. 

“My apologies, Miss Hart. It’s good. You should be proud. You both should be,” he says, looking from painting to painting.

“Thanks,” You smile. 

“You owe me sixteen cans of paint, though.”

You sigh, and Riley grabs your hand. How could you not have seen this coming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd appreciate if you left a comment, and if you'd like to request a fic, feel free to message me at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask ! Hope you enjoyed!


	7. If You Give A Ninth Grader A Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why's it always gotta be archery?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this has a typo, sorry! I'm editing now, honest. I uploaded this five minutes before midnight, but I damn well kept my streak. It's short, whoopssss

“No. Absolutely not. Maya, I’m sorry, and I love you, but I absolutely will not allow this to happen,” You say firmly. 

“Riley, this is dumb. I’ll be fine,” Maya rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. 

“Maya, are you joking? It’s ARCHERY. Bows, Maya! Arrows! Real, actual weapons! And, now, I love you, and I mean this in this nicest way possible, but see, Maya, you’re kind of a magnet for destruction and disaster,” You say, following her as she walks to go pick up a bow.

It’s the last one, and you grab it before she can manage to. “No,” You repeat. You’re not doing this. You know EXACTLY how this goes. You’ve more or less made it your personal job to make sure Maya stays out of the hospital. 

And anyways, the gym teacher is scary. You’re pretty sure if Maya started bleeding on the floor, Ms. Everett would eat her. 

“Riley!” She pouts.

“Ring power! Go sit down until the end of class! Ha, I win!” You’re pretty proud of yourself. 

“I- what? That’s- that’s not fair,” She sputters, but you’ve got her beat. 

“Go, Maya!”

“But I love shooting stuff at other stuff,” She moans. You glare at her, and you feel bad, you do, but she’s not getting hurt today. That much you’ve decided. 

She huffs, but complies, and sits on the bench, far away from any area where people are aiming. 

You start practicing shooting, even though Ms. Everett didn’t teach anyone how. In fact, she left the room five minutes ago. (You think she’s down the hall, flirting with Mr. Madlyss. Maya thinks she’s in the Teachers Lounge, probably doing crack. You have a bet going about it. So far, nobody’s winning.)

You look to the corner. Maya is sitting on the bench, carving something into the bleachers with the shank she made out of the metal stuff around the tips of pencil earasers. 

God, what a bizarre sentence. Only Maya.

Anyways, she looks ridiculously intent on it. You smile a little. With her mind somewhere else entirely, she looks... calm. Soft and relaxed. You don’t get to see her like this everyday. It’s nice. 

You go back to shooting. It’s tedious but entertaining, and you’re good at it, too. 

Everybody else seems to be liking the task, too. That’s what happens when you give a bunch of kids weapons, you guess. 

God, Maya would love this. But this is exactly the kind of thing that this little bout of bad luck would take advantage of. 

“Hey, Riles, I-” You feel a tap on your shoulder and jump.

“Ah! Maya! Never sneak up on someone with a weapon, are you crazy?” You scold. 

“I mean, that’s definitely debatable. But not at all my point. My point is that nobody’s gotten hurt, and it’s perfectly safe,” She says.

“Maya, I don’t trust it. The bench, Maya, the bench is a beautiful place, a place where nobody gets hurt,” You say. “Go sit on the bench. It’s not like you could even do it, anyways, look at your cast,” You say, 

She sighs, but she’s wholeheartedly aware that this won’t get her anywhere. You’re right, and she knows it. “Fine,” she mumbles, and you thank her.

She narrowly avoids several arrows on her way back to the bench, but you see her safely make it past everyone else shooting arrows, and get within a foot of the bench and-

Right into her shoulder, an arrow. Everybody sees it. The whole gym goes dead silent. And then? She turns around with the most shocked, but bitter smile on her face. 

She takes a deep breath, and, well, what can you say? Birds fly off trees within a three mile radius. 

“Maya!” You yell, running up to her. “Someone get a teacher! Someone get my dad!” You scream. 

“Fuck,” Maya hisses. “Why does this keep happening to me? What the FUCK. Oh, Jesus,” She winces, and she sounds like she’s trying to sound pissed, but it all comes out like a whimper. 

“Alright, what happened- ARCHERY?” Your dad yells. “Who thought it was a good idea to give the freshman class lethal weapons? That’s not part of the curriculum!”

“Don’t act big, Matthews, you teach about your kid’s life,” Maya spits. 

“Oh, boy. An arrow? Of course, an arrow. Who shot you?” He says.

“Who shot me?! I don’t know! I don’t care! There’s an arrow in my fucking arm, I don’t know who it was, I don’t care if it was the goddamn Cupid of Everything Hates Maya, I’ve got an _arrow_ in my _arm_!”

“Fair point,” Your dad shrugs. 

“Will she be okay, Daddy?” You ask.

“Ah… Let’s.. Take her to the nurse,” He looks at her wound.

“God, it’s like I have a fucking literal target on me!” Maya says angrily. The rest of the class raises their eyebrows and exchanges some glances. 

It’s true, kind of.

“Again?” Sharon says, looking Maya up and down. Maya nods. 

“Ooh, ouch! An arrow to the shoulder? That’s… That’s certainly a first. C’mere, sweetie,” Sharon continues.

Maya turns around to let Sharon look at the arrow that nobody has so much as TRIED to take out. (Everyone’s too afraid too.)

“Alright… Let’s see here,” Sharon bites her lip. “You’re only gonna feel a slight pinch, okay?” She asks Maya.

“I bet you’re just like my dentist,” Maya grumbles back.

Sharon counts to three, and Maya bites her lip hard enough that it starts bleeding. 

You wince on behalf of her, but Maya doesn’t make a sound. She exhales when the arrow is placed on the table. 

“Hmm,” Sharon says. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches. It’s not too deep. Keep it clean. You wouldn’t want to get an infection. Let me bandage it up,” She goes on, and Maya rolls her eyes. 

Sharon grabs a bottle of that stuff- you don’t know the name, (no one does) but it’s the stuff in the big brown bottle that hurts like hell when you put it on an open wound. Maya turns her head, and her eyes widen.

She shuts her eyes very tight and digs her teeth into her wrist. She almost keeps from making a noise.

“Knowing you is becoming increasingly difficult,” You joke, long after school has let out. You’re on your bed now, lying next to her. 

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m not, trust me. You’re simply accident prone, Miss Hart. I hear the Freshmen of Abigail Adams have developed a bet. I don’t know the exact details, but apparently, they believe you’re cursed. They’re giving people money who stand within four feet of you for over twenty minutes, according to Zay,” You laugh.

“Hilarious,” She sighs.

“Hey. Don’t be upset.”

“Bad things keep happening to me,” She mutters. 

“I know. I’m sorry, Maya,” you put an arm around her. 

“Knowing you is very difficult,” you repeat, “And very dangerous. It’s always been very dangerous. It’s also very worth it,” You reassure, and grab her hand. 

She hums indifferently, but you know she appreciates the gesture.

“Maya?” You mumble. You’re a little tired, even though it’s not late. Everything is hazy and golded-yellows.

“Yeah?” 

“What were you drawing on the bench?”

She just laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment, and request a fic at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	8. Maya Hart and Being Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you call a fear of the color beige? Maya and Riley are done with this curse, and all it took was a handful of gunshots and a hostage situation. Huh. Funny how that works, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAM it gets angsty again. This was fun, I really hope you enjoy, it was fun to write!

“Holy shit, Riley, it’s snowing,” She breathes, and you smile. Her fingers are looped in yours, and the two of you look skyward.

“A Christmas miracle,” You smile.

“It’s November, honey,” She turns to look at you with a smirk.

“Precisely. It almost never snows this early,” You explain. “Miracle.”

“Whatever you say, Riles. Let’s get something to eat before we head home,” She says. “I just need to stop by an ATM.”

“You stop by ATM’s? Wow, we really are getting older,” You marvel. “Wait. No. I’ll pay,” You try again, focusing your attention to the issue at hand. 

“Nope. I’m paying,” She says, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards a big bank.

“Maya, let me,” You attempt.

“Riley, I can pay for dinner. I don’t need charity. C’mon,” She says, dragging you into the big, echoey building. The ceilings are high and reflective, like glass.

“Fancy bank,” You raise your eyebrows.

“All I need is the ATM, then we’re leaving. The walls are beige, I can’t stay here for long,” She says with a chuckle.

“What’s the name of the fear of the color beige?” You laugh.

“That’s not even a fear,” Maya laughs. “I hate banks, you know. All of ‘em. They’re all full of inconvenienced people, standing in lines on gray carpets, waiting for some bored asshole to do whatever Bank People do,” She mutters, punching some stuff into the machine. 

Three shots, “Hands up, on the floor!” And people are screaming. It’s too fast. What’s happening?

You look around, disorientated. Two of the three bank tellers are bleeding and slumped over. People are running to the corners, but the only exit is blocked. People are trying to hide. What’s happening? 

“Down! On the ground! Keep your mouths shut or you’re dead!” Eight tall men. They all have guns in their hands. You’re staring, and you feel a pull. 

Everything is moving fast and it’s chaotic, and meanwhile Maya drags you behind a desk.

“Maya,” You say, and she clasps her hand over your mouth.

She puts a finger to her lips. “There are lots of people here,” She whispers. “They won’t notice we’re gone if we hide.” 

Maya is wrong. Almost immediately, actually.

“This isn’t it,” a man says. “There were more. This must be less than half the people in here. We need a body count.” 

“T-The cops are coming!” A voice stammers. It sounds young, like maybe the bank teller that was still alive. 

“That’s the point,” One laughs. 

“Maya,” You whisper, and she grabs your arm. Everything is a blur of hearing people talk. Words like _hostages_ and _money_ are thrown around as more people whimper for mercy as they’re dragged out with guns to their heads. 

Maya begs you to stop trying to see what’s going on. You can’t help it.

“Check behind there,” You hear. 

Everything moves fast until someone has a gun to Maya’s head and you and her are being dragged into a corner. 

“Keep quiet,” One says gruffly. 

People are pulling out their phones, texting their loved ones. What more can anyone do? The police are coming, you remind yourself, everything is going to be fine. It’s going to be alright. 

You cling to Maya. 

“We’ll be okay,” She promises. You think she’s lying. 

You struggle to gather what’s going on. A bank. They’re… keeping you hostage? For money, maybe. Probably. Are they going to kill you?

Your ears are ringing. No matter what, you have to protect Maya. You need to keep her safe. 

People are crying, but your ears are still ringing. Really loudly. Wait, no. Those are sirens. Cops? Cops are here. And it’s gonna be okay.

“They’re here. Six of you, out. Two stay. Pick a hostage,” One says. They’re indiscernible from one another. 

“That one will work. Pretty young girl like that, they’ll give us the money,” and he’s pointing right at you, and your heart stops. 

“No!” You hear, and it’s choked, but strong. “I’ll go. Me. I’ll do it.”

Maya is looking at you now. “Maya, no,” You shake your head furiously.

“Whatever. The blonde. Sure,” And someone drags her up and puts a gun to her head once again.

She looks at you. “I’ll be fine,” She says, and they’re dragging her off. 

“Wait!” You call out. And you’re standing up. Why are you standing up? “Let me say goodbye,” You hear yourself say. 

The men look at each other. Shrug. You walk towards Maya. 

You try to think of something really poignant and profound to say, because honestly, this is the kind of thing that could end up with Maya dead, and people don’t always get the chance to fit in their famous last words to the one they love, so this is the kind of thing, you think, that should be meaningful. Rehearsed and beautiful. Something nobody’s ever said before. 

And yet, the words don’t come to you. With her, you’re speechless. Tears well at the corners of your eyes, and what can you do?

She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then closes it. You take a deep breath and kiss her. You kiss her, because what can you possibly say? 

You let go of her and look at her. She smiles at you, but it’s sad. 

“Maya?”

“Yeah?” 

“You need to be okay,” You order. She nods. 

And like that, you watch her be taken away by six men, a gun to her head, for what might be the last time.

You were supposed to keep her safe. 

People are looking at you like a spectacle, but there’s sympathy in their eyes, and a little relief. Relief because it’s not them.

Maya will be okay. Maya will be fine; Maya is always alright. 

You start biting your nails. 

You’re crying a little. You wish Maya would have let you pay for dinner. You bite your lip. She has to be okay. The police are there. The police can handle this because Maya has to be alright. 

Why does this have to happen?

Gunshots ring out. You’ve heard stories before about people developing superhuman powers under the circumstances that someone they love is in danger, like grandmothers lifting up cars when their grandkids are stuck underneath.

Well, you guess that’s what happens to you, because gunshots ring out, and somehow you manage past two very big men with weapons. How you dodge the bullets they shoot, you’ll never know, but you’re out of the door faster than you can even comprehend what it is you’ve actually done, and Maya is on the ground along with half the men and a police officer, and you run over to her, and you hold her, and you think that you’re yelling. 

She’s bleeding. Maya is bleeding, and you’re holding her, and people are still shooting, but it doesn’t matter, because Maya is on the ground.

“Maya,” You say. You’re crying hard, now. 

“I’m okay,” She mumbles. Where’s she bleeding? Her side, she’s bleeding from her side, and she’s been shot, and God, she’s bleeding, and why is nobody doing anything?

You hear sirens. Or you’re still hearing sirens. Did they stop? There’s a crowd watching you now. The gunshots have stopped now. 

It’s dark but everything is flashing red and white, and EMT’s are picking her up as you try to keep hold of her, and you can’t keep doing this. You can’t do this again, and you’re crying as they put her in an ambulance with flashing lights, but it should be you. 

It should be you. 

“Mom, Dad,” You cry, jumping from your seat in the waiting room, the same one as always. 

They embrace you and you sob, shaking and struggling to breathe. “Oh, Riley,” they whisper, stroking your hair. 

“They shot her. She was bleeding. It was bad,” You whimper. 

They pull away, and you sit down. Katy is staring blankly at the wall. 

“Will Maya be okay, Mom?” You try, looking at Topanga. She grabs your hand and squeezes it tightly. She sighs. 

Maya was shot. You saw her bleeding on the ground when she was shot tonight. Because she was a hostage. And now, you don’t know what will happen. This is the kind of thing that makes people wind up dead. 

Not that Maya hasn’t come close before.

How are you going to keep doing this? Watching her nearly die, all of the time? When is life going to give you a break? 

When are you going to stop ending up in hospital waiting rooms with stinging eyes while you bite your nails? 

You exhale. Your head aches. You just want Maya to be okay. Then you’ll go from there. 

You see a doctor. No, you see The Doctor. The same one. Every time. He walks out of a room and rubs at his temples. You walk right up to him. 

“Will she be okay?” You demand, wiping at your eyes. 

He looks at you sideways. “Again?” He squints. 

“Will she be okay?” You repeat, stronger this time.

“We’re trying to stop the bleeding,” He offers with a sigh. “She got hit in the side. The bullet went through, avoiding kinetic damage. It was a small bullet. Mainly, it hit excess skin surrounding the muscle. It was mostly just a graze.”

“What does that mean?” You say.

“It means that if we stop the bleeding, there won’t be any long term effects. It means that if she doesn’t bleed out, she’ll be fine. It means that I wish this stupid kid would take better care of herself,” He laughs tiredly. 

“...Oh. What’s your name?”

“Henry,” He says. 

“Thank you.” You sit back down.

The bleeding. They’re trying to stop the bleeding. If they can do that, she’ll be alright. 

Your dad hands you a cup of water. You croak out a thank you.

“When’s the last time you ate?” He asks.

“We were going to eat… before. She needed money from the ATM, though,” You look at your shoes.

He frowns. Looks at your mother. The two of them get up and head back down the hall to the vending machines. 

Katy breathes in sharply, and you look to your right. She turns to you. She looks tired. “She really loves you, you know,” She smiles softly.

You don’t know what to say, so you settle with the truth. “I love her, too.”

“Thank you for protecting her,” She says, looking at the ceiling. 

“But I didn’t, she-” You start.

“You tried. I know you tried.”

She leaves it at that, so you do, too. 

Hours later, Henry looks down at you. “We stopped the bleeding,” He says, and he smiles a little. “I’m going to make a wild guess and say you want to see her.”

You jump out of your seat. So does Katy, and your parents, too.

“Maya,” You say, and run to her side when you see her. She smiles at you weakly. 

“Riles. You know, I’m getting really fucking sick of this place,” She laughs.

“I’m glad. Let’s not do this anymore, huh?”

“Not my fault! He shot me,” She says.

“They were gonna take me, but someone had to play hero,” You roll your eyes.

“You totally fell for it. By the way? Best goodbye ever.”

You giggle. She’s okay. That’s it, that’s what matters. 

Katy and your parents are looking at you, amusement playing across their faces. 

“Maya, does it hurt?” You say, taking her hand.

“What, this gun wound? The place where I got shot? That thing? Nah.”

“Maya!”

“Only a little. I don’t think it really went through or anything. It just took some skin off the side,” She shrugs. By a little, she probably means a lot.

“I love you, Maya,” You look at her. 

“You too, Riles.”

“If you ever get hurt again, I’m gonna kick your ass,” You laugh, wiping away some tears. 

You sit down next to her. She’s okay, and she’s talking, and even now, she is gorgeous. And so things are alright, and it’s going to be okay.

Things are going to be okay. What a refreshing thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are always appreciated! request stuff at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	9. Falling in Love (And Other Teenage Bullshit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ski lifts, Sisters, Sunsets, and Stars. Maya's getting the nagging feeling that her whole life's a bad TV network movie. That's fine; Not like she understands love anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a hell of a while to upload, but the writer's block has been strong. I do hope you like it, though. Writing it was fun.

It’s been, like, three hours, and it’s starting to snow bigger flakes now, which is all really peaceful and everything, and you’re, like, three long blinks from falling asleep, but then Riley goes, “this is gonna be great.”

“Isn’t it sort of late in the year to be camping?” You ask. The two of you are in the very back of the car, next to all the bags and stuff. 

“Of course not! It’ll be beautiful,” Riley assures you.

“It’ll be beautiful when we get there,” You roll your eyes, “A good three weeks from now. _Matthews_ ,” You growl at Riley’s dad, who’s been condemned to the middle row seats with Auggie. He was driving at first, but after two hours of going thirty miles per hour, Topanga kicked him out. Now she’s driving, and your mom is in the passenger seat, directing. (Bad, bad idea.)

“Safety precautions!” Cory says, for probably the fiftieth time this trip. 

“Like father, like daughter,” You mutter with a grin. 

The only thing you’ve learned in, like, the past three years is that driving with Mr. Matthews during a slight blizzard is never a good idea. 

“Moooom!” Riley calls. 

“Yes, child of mine?” Topanga calls back. 

“Are we there yet?” She moans, long and dramatic. You snort. 

“Oh, boy. Give it half an hour,” Topanga sighs. You groan. Riley puts an arm around your shoulder. 

“It’ll be great,” She promises again. You hum in agreement and stare out the window at the flakes falling down, slow and round. Tedious and methodical, but nice anyway. 

“Alright, girls, get up, we’re here,” You hear, and you blink fast a few times. Your head is buried in the crook of Riley’s neck, and she’s still asleep. 

“Riles,” You mutter, elbowing her. 

“Hm? Oh, we’re here!” She perks up, looking through the windshield. 

“Nice cabin,” You rub at your eyes, climb over the seat in front of you, and get out of the car.

“I said it was gonna be great, it’s gonna be great,” Riley gushes. 

“Great,” You smirk. 

“Everybody in, it’s cold!” Topanga yells, and Riley is about to follow, but you grab her arm and she stops. 

“They’re gonna make us unpack. Our best bet is to go off and walk around. We’ll come back when they’re done,” You tell her quietly. 

“Maya, you’re a genius,” She beams. “MOOOOM! WE’RE GONNA WALK AROUND!” She calls to Topanga, who’s currently drowning in bags. You’d feel bad, but...

“Okay, don’t die,” She waves absentmindedly, all the while trying to get Auggie to stop yelling unintelligible gibberish at the birds. 

That kid sure is Riley’s brother.

“Which way?” Riley says, looping her arm with yours. 

“Hm. Right, towards the woods,” You say. The snow is thick and crunchy, but still falling. It’s almost untouched, but you’re kind of ruining it by walking on it. 

“It’s pretty,” Riley sighs, looking at the treetops as you enter the thicket. 

“Where even are we?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Like, country wise?”

You nod. 

“No clue,” She giggles. She stops dead in her tracks, then gasps. “Maya, look!” She points at something off in the distance. Slowly, cautiously, she starts walking forward. 

“I’m not seeing it,” You shrug.

“Bunny!” She breathes, back turned to you. You follow her gesture. Huh. So there is. 

Without entirely thinking, because you have very little self control, you dig into the snow with bare hands, sculpt, and chuck. It hits Riley on the back of her neck. 

“MAYA!” She yells, and the bunny scurries away _real_ fast. 

“Perfect aim!” You throw your arms up in triumph, and she’s mad but you’re laughing. 

“You did NOT!” She turns around. 

“I did!” You call back to her. 

“Oh yeah?” She challenges, and of course, this means war. You grab as much snow as you can carry and chuck handful after handful, not paying so much attention as to where they land. 

Meanwhile, you see Riley throw, and- right in the ear. Ouch. “You play dirty, Matthews!” You yell, clipping her in the shoulder. 

She laughs and nails you in the leg. Rude. You grab another handful, pack it together, and throw it at a pine branch directly above her. 

The branch bends, snow flying off it. You imagine this is what the teaches lounge in school looks like when Ms. Everett is taking her break. 

She’s covered in powdery snow as it falls off, and boy, does she look pissed. “Maya Hart!” Whoops.

You turn around, grasping for another good handful, and- she hits you right in the back of your head. “FUCK!” You hiss, because it still hurts pretty bad, but you definitely overplay your injury with the whole _falling to the ground_ thing. That much you’ll admit. 

“Maya, ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” She yells, rushing to your side, and- you jump up and tackle her, because damned if you’re not going to win this thing.

“MAYA! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT!” She screams, throwing handfuls of snow at your as you kneel on top of her. 

“SORRY, I’M SORRY!” You sputter, rolling off her and trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, truce!”

“I was so worried!” She yells again.

“I’m sorry! It did actually hurt, though,” You defend. 

“You’re dumb,” She huffs, laying down next to you.

“I love yoooou,” You sing. 

“I love you too,” She sighs.

You struggle up suddenly and say, “Let’s keep going!” 

“Sure,” Riley says, and you offer her your good hand. She accepts, and the two of you walk in comfortable silence, aside from her pointing out all of the pretty things. 

“Hey, look, a stream!” You grin, hopping on one of the rocks in the middle of the rush of water. 

“Maya, I wouldn’t!” Riley grimaces. 

“What? Why?” You hold out your arms, moving on to the next rock. 

“Uhm. Well. You’re not the most cautious person, and the water isn’t frozen over yet, either,” She says, biting her lip.

“I’ll be fine,” You proclaim, jumping to the next rock. “C’mon, come with me.”

“I’m good,” She giggles. You shrug. “Maya, if you fall in, I’m not gonna help you,” she says, but you think she’s lying.

“Trust me, I’m-” You say, and at the exact wrong time, too, because it wouldn’t be your life if you didn’t slip, pivot around on your ankle, and fall RIGHT into the freezing water.

“FUCK,” You yell, which is not a good idea, mostly because you’re underwater. You’re sorta sputtering, which again, not safe, but you feel something tug at your arm and you’re above water, but FUCK, it’s cold, unreasonably so, and you’re sort of dripping and shaking and gasping for air as Riley pulls you to the surface. 

You cough out some water and prop yourself up on your elbows. Your ankle seriously hurts, and this fucking hypothermia isn’t really helping anything, but the first thing you do when you can talk again is turn to Riley and hiss, “Not a word.”

“I would never,” She mocks offense, but she’s looking pretty amused as she does. “Maya, you must be freezing,” she continues, dropping the smile.

“I’m okay,” You mutter, trying to get up, but when you do, your ankle buckles. Riley catches you. 

“I’m sure,” She laughs, helping you into a standing position and acting as your crutch. “Think your ankle’s broken?” She bites her lip.

“No. Sprained, maybe, but it’ll be fine,” You say. 

“Let’s go back. You’re gonna freeze,” She tells you, and you readily comply, chattering teeth and all. 

It’s a fifteen minute walk, but longer when you’re limping and shaking and only 75% mobile, so it takes you an extra ten, and your hair is frozen solid by the time Riley helps you into the cabin. Which really fucking sucks, because your hair looked fantastic. 

“We’re back!” Riley announces, entering the room. Everyone else is sitting in the chairs around the fireplace. 

“I… Should I ask?” Katy sighs, looking you up and down.

“Three guesses,” You sigh.

“She fell. Into a stream,” Riley explains. “Her ability to walk is questionable.” She directs you to the fire and you both sit down by it. 

“I wouldn’t advise going swimming today,” You muse. “But I’m pretty sure this counts as one of those polar plunge things.”

“Well done,” Riley laughs, and lays her head on your shoulder, and so all is decidedly well. 

“DON’T DO IT,” Cory warns once again. It’s been a good three hours, meaning your hair has melted and you’ve changed your clothes, but you’re still pretty cold. 

“Daddy, we just wanna watch the sun set from the ski lift,” Riley says gently. 

“A _what_ lift?” He raises an eyebrow.

“A ski lift,” She sighs and looks at you apologetically. You force a smile and purse your lips. 

“No!”

“Dad,” She groans.

“Nobody ever listens to me,” He grumbles. “I warned you. I told you, and now you’re disobeying me, so don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he huffs.

The two of you leave. “Isn’t there gonna be a line for the lift or something? Aren’t they gonna be mad that we’re not skiing or anything?” You ask.

“There’s only one lift, and people don’t really ski here anymore except in January sometimes. It’s mostly for transportation. We came here once when I was pretty young. Oh. Oh, man. You know what, I think Auggie was conceived here,” She cringes. 

You laugh and put an arm around her. “Think your parents will get lucky again tonight? You’ve always wanted a sister,” You smirk.

“EW MAYA _STOP_. I don’t want any more, Auggie is enough. And you’re like my sister-” She falters. 

Oh. 

“Um.” She breathes. You don’t say anything. 

She turns to you, stops walking. “Maya, that’s not-”

“Don’t.” You bite your lip and your words are stiff, but you force a smile anyways. “I know what you meant.” You look anywhere but at her.

“Maya...” 

“No, it’s okay,” You say. She grabs your hand. 

You keep walking like that for a couple minutes, and then it gets worse, because she points, and here you are, and wow, is that ski lift _high_.

“Look!” She perks up like nothing even happened, pointing towards the cart dangling in the sky from a couple of metal poles. 

“Yeah,” You muse flatly.

“The sunset’s gonna be beautiful,” She says, dragging you up the mountain towards the boarding area. 

“So, is someone, gonna, like, operate it for us?” You ask tentatively as the two of you get closer.

“No, it operates kinda like a cable car. I’ll pull the lever, get in, and it will start moving over the valley to the other side. Then it’ll drop us off over there,” She points to the other mountain ledge. 

Funny, though, because the ski lift is _really_ high up, and though you’re sure the view is gorgeous, you’re also sort of sure that that’s probably pretty dangerous, considering your current circumstances. 

“Um,” You breathe. What can you say? She’s so excited. You inhale. So, it’s high up. That’s nothing. It’s fine. Really high. The air is thin up here. It doesn’t look sturdy, even a little bit. 

“Maya?” Riley says. You turn to her with raised eyebrows. “Uh, Maya, you haven’t exhaled in, like, thirty seconds.”

“Oh. Yeah,” You force a smile and exhale.

“Maya, are you alright?” She leans her head against yours.

“Never better.” 

“Maya, are you… are you scared of heights?” She looks at you kind of sideways. 

“What? No!” You scoff defensively. Probably too defensively, actually, because she just kind of gives you a sympathetic half smile and squeezes your hand. “I’m not,” You try again.

“Maya, I’ve been on this thing a few time. It’s safe, I promise. We’ll be okay,” She promises. You give her a wan smile. 

“I know,” You lie. 

“Alright, sit there,” She directs you. The cart is above some cliff still, so at least you’re not dangling or anything. 

Riley pulls a lever and jumps into the car, which makes it shake. Oh, boy. She pulls down a metal bar in front of you, which technically is too far away from you, and if you slipped the wrong way, you could probably slide through the gap and hurtle to your death.

“ _Breathe_ , Maya,” Riley giggles and slides in close to you. 

“Right. Whatever, it’s just, I don’t know, Riles, this thing seems kinda precarious,” You shrug, even though you only sort of know what that word means.

“We’ll be fine. We’re not gonna die… If we did, though, at least we’d die together,” She says wistfully, and it’s well meaning, but-

“ _DUDE_!”

“Sorry! Sorry. Sorry. We’re gonna be okay, Maya,” She puts her arm around you protectively. The cart starts to move, a little faster than it needs to, you think. 

“Look, though,” Her face lights up, and you don’t know what she’s pointing at, but you’re far more interested in her. 

You manage to turn your head, and- well, shit. She’s right. It’s this view, this gorgeous view of trees tipped with snow, and you can see ridiculously far, and there’s just this shining, clean snow going on for miles and miles amidst the forest and pine and stuff, and it’s shimmering, glowing golds and oranges and pinks, shining like broken glass caught in light, and it’s just nearly on fire, you think, and just like that, nothing else exists. It’s you, and her, and this world that you willingly conduct, and this reality you hold the responsibility of realizing, and that’s it. That’s what you have. That’s all you need. 

(God, that sounds ridiculous. What’s happening to you?)

She grabs your hand and you turn to her, laughing a little, because you’ve never seen anything like this, and it’s amazing, and you’re so glad that you’re seeing it with her, and- she kisses you. It’s always gotta be some kind of monumental. 

You kiss, and then pull away, because- _can you do that still_? 

You breathe. Blink, slow and soft. She leans her head on your shoulder, and you don’t say anything more about it. 

“Look at that, Maya,” She says dreamily.

It really is amazing, but you’re still not entirely over that whole, you know, kiss thing.

You look at her. She’s glowing shades of amber and tangerine. God, she’s beautiful.

Then the ski lift screeches and stops moving at all. “It stopped,” You exclaim.

“Yes.”

“It STOPPED.”

“It stopped.”

“Is it supposed to stop?!” 

“Not at all,” She says with wide eyes.

“Why did it stop?” You press.

“Because I got on here with you!” She points at you, angry and distressed. 

“Don’t blame me!”

“Don’t look down,” She fires back.

“Riley!” You screech, but of course, you look down, and you’re sure there’s a name for the human response to being told not to do something, but you’re not doing great in science this term, so you don’t know what it is. Not that you care, seeing as you’re in a motionless cart, which is hanging from some metal poles and cables very far in the air. Like, instant death far.

“I’m sorry, I was upset,” She says frantically when she sees the look on your face. “We’ll be okay, we just have to press the emergency button, someone will come and get us,” She calms down.

“It’s self operated,” You state the obvious.

“Well, yeah, but I mean, I have faith that someone, somewhere will hear,” She shrugs with a nervous smile, and you bury your head in your hands, trying to ignore the pounding headache that’s been getting progressively worse since you fell into that stream or whatever.

“Don’t you have your phone or something?” You sigh, running a hand through your hair.

“No reception,” She mumbles, banging on the emergency button.

“It’s getting dark,” You note with raised eyebrows. Colder, too. It’s pretty still, but you’re kind of suspended midair, so it kind of loses the novelty. 

“Maya,” She says, “What is we get stuck up here forever?”

She goes from calm to crazy familiarly fast- ew, alliteration- and you sigh. 

“At least we’ll die together,” You breathe with a tired smirk, and she elbows you gently. 

“Listen, help will come soon,” She composes herself, “It’s got to.”

The ski lift doesn’t start moving again for another hour. Why are you not surprised? 

It’s pitch dark and fucking _freezing_ , not to mention you’re exhausted, but the two of you lug your way down a mountain and through woods, despite your hurt ankle, because really, you just want to get to warmth.

Warmth and _food_ \- neither of you have eaten since before you left this morning. 

When the two of you walk through the door, you’re greeted with a lot more noise than you can handle.

“Where have you been?!” Topanga is at your throats before you get one foot through the doorway.

“You were going for a twenty minute ride _hours_ ago!” Your mom joins in, always glad to be of service.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were?” And the mic goes back to Mrs. Matthews.

Mom repertoire, always a pleasure. You shoot Riley a _so, do I pretend to pass out?_ Sort of look, but she shakes her head. You shrug.

“WE ALMOST DIED,” You say over all the fussing and rule enforcing going on here.

“Cool,” Auggie grins. 

“No, we didn’t- well, yeah, sorta,” Riley considers. 

More fuzzy questions that you only kind of hear. Riley explains that you got trapped in a ski lift in the middle of the sky. 

“I told you s-” Cory starts, but Topanga clamps a hand over his mouth and rolls her eyes.

“SPARE US, OLD MAN!” You wail. You’re too tired for this, and your entire body hurts. 

Riley aides you in making your way to the couch, and the two of you sit down.

“No more questions, come back later,” Riley says tiredly, dragging her knees to her chest. 

And for the time being, they leave you alone. Thank fucking God.

“Trust me,” She says, hours and hours later, and you shrug like you’ve always done.

“Whatever you want.”

“The stars are fantastic,” Riley promises, gathering blankets in her arms. 

“I’ve seen three,” You smile proudly. There’s sort of a lot of light pollution in New York, to state the obvious. 

“It’s ridiculous here,” She beams, but you can only see half of her face- the rest is obscured by sleeping bags and what not.

“Mom! Dad! We’re gonna go watch the stars,” Riley calls to the Matthews, sitting in the other room.

“Be back in before one!” She calls back.

The two of you exit, and you follow her a little ways off, and then through the woods. 

You walk through some trees, and there’s a little clearing- just empty, flat land in the middle of all this forest. 

You lay down the tarp Riley gave you to carry, and she starts putting down more blankets than anyone could ever need. 

She helps you down and then follows suit, and pulls a blanket over the both of you. 

“Look,” She demands. 

You blink. This barely seems real. You didn’t even know there WERE this many stars. There’s more star than there is dark, and it feels like a painting.

“You can even see the little ones, Riles,” You breathe. Even the most faraway stars are visible, despite being a lot dimmer than the ones you could see anywhere. It’s like they’re secret to anyone who happens to be anywhere but here. 

“They look like your freckles,” She lilts, and you’re in between blushing and elbowing her. Who says that? Real people don’t say that! 

Riley does. Riley. You bite your lip.

You look at her. What can you do? Maybe you should look at the stars again. You just look at her, though, because before you even knew there were stars in the sky, you saw the stars in her eyes, and all that really means to you is that you’re a goner.

Maybe that’s what love is. 

You don’t know. You barely understand what love even means. God, what’s happening to you? You sound like a Hallmark movie.

You should shut up now. God, is she stunning, though.

Wordlessly, she leans into you. And everything is right and perfect, because it’s you, and it’s her, and so it’s perfect. 

So you look at the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, leave a comment! request fics at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	10. A Pessimist's Weather Forecast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maya hates that her dad was right and she hates that Lucas texted Riley, so maybe it's just men that are the issue, right? Love is stupid and it's raining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY LMAO

Despite everything, it’s not the worst day- it’s raining even though it’s November, leaving the lights outside blurred from the foggy windows, with soft, buzzing music playing from your phone, and you think it’s probably two in the morning. 

Riley is wiping blood from your face, because it’s been quite the night, as per usual. You don’t exactly recall in perfect clarity what you were doing climbing up her fire escape during a huge storm, and especially not when you’re someone who’s cursed like you are, but you remember her crying by the time you woke up. 

“Maya, I was so scared,” She shakes her head, taking a seat next to you and tossing a tissue with spots of blood on it into her wastebasket. “I didn’t wanna call 911 ‘cause I thought maybe it wasn’t that serious when I cleaned off the cut on your head, and my parents aren’t even here, but I was scared,” She admits, leaning her head against your shoulder. 

“I’m alright,” You shrug, running a finger over the gash you acquired on your forehead. It stings, but it’ll heal.

“This… This keeps happening, Maya,” She looks to you helplessly, and you know that she’s asking something of you- she wants comfort, she wants you to reassure her that you will always be fine. 

“Riles. Hey, listen, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m alright. Okay? I must be immortal or something,” You grin and it’s soft enough to fit the scene and you’re glad, and when she smiles back you’re comforted in knowing that you said the right thing. 

Slowly she leans forward, and it’s peaceful and beautiful and exactly the way that it needs to be. And her lips brush yours, and her eyes are closed, and you’re about to kiss- really kiss, for the first time in a while- and then her phone buzzes. 

She pulls back instantly and you’re slightly offended, because, uh- you kind of had something going on, right? And she glances down at her phone and it’s _Lucas_ at the top, because who else could it be, and she’s gone by the time she starts to text him back. Two in the morning, and he’s texting her.

“Texting Huckleberry, huh?” You snark, and maybe it’s the head injury, but you hear yourself follow up with, “you’d be free to date him if you’d just stop _saving_ me. Must be such a burden,” you scoff.

“Maya,” She says stiffly, a little taken aback.

“Oh, my bad, you can date him whenever you want- we’re _sisters_ , remember?” And it comes out like a sneer.

“Maya, it’s not like that,” She says quietly. 

“What’s not like that? Him texting you at two in the morning, Riley? You stopping kissing me just to talk to _him_?” You spit and forget that you’ll regret this all soon because it doesn’t matter. 

“Maya, stop!” She says helplessly, and you know you can crush her and you know that you shouldn’t and your chest aches.

“Why did you kiss me?” You ask, and it’s bitter and dry and you hate how it makes you sound and you hate how fast this all happened and you hate being in this situation more than anything.

“I was scared I was gonna lose you! I was scared I was gonna lose my best friend, I-” She stops, hears what she says, winces. Before she can explain you just bite your lip and nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought. ‘Friend.’ ‘Sister.’ ‘I like the way things are, I don’t see why things have to change, Maya.’ Yeah, how stupid can I be? What do you think you’re doing, stringing me along like that, huh? I have _feelings_ for you and you’re fucking with me!” You accuse. “God, I’m an idiot! When have you even acted like we’re more than friends when it’s not some bullshit movie scene heat-of-the-moment thing or I’m about to fucking die? Is that what I have to do for you to care about me like I care about you? Die? Is that it? You’re kissing me because you’re just so terrified I’m gonna drop dead every other moment?” Everything you say hurts as you say it and you’re shaking even though her room is warm.

“Maya, listen to me, I could never do that to you, why won’t you listen to me?” She presses, following you to the door. “Maya!”

“Don’t! Okay? God, I’m an idiot. Go, be with Lucas, fuck it!” You spit, walking out the door and slamming it behind you. You’re in no condition to be going down a fire escape right now, and that’s the truest thing you’ve said this whole night.

It doesn’t take you long for you to find yourself walking in the streets of New York with rain, icy and harsh, pouring down on you. 

This is stupid. You know it’s stupid, and frankly, so are you, for thinking that she cared about you the way that you care about her. God, how could you be such an idiot? And even still, it started with some dumb text from Lucas.

Once, when you were a little kid, your father said to you, “Maya, a woman can start an argument over anything if they try hard enough.” Though perhaps entirely sexist, you wonder if maybe that statement holds some truth to it. Long gone are the days when you could discern which fight caused such a statement from him, though you’ve conditioned yourself to believe that your mother was right in any given situation.

That’s not the point, though- the point is, sexist or not, maybe what he said is true, and maybe you’re a good example. Because even though you’re totally right and it makes perfect sense that you’re mad, it started just because Lucas texted her. 

Stupid Lucas. All his fault. 

Fuck it, that’s not fair. But you’re still mad and tired and shaking and soaking wet. God, it’s cold for November. And you’re a fucking idiot. And Riley… well. Yeah.

By the time you make it to your own house, you’ve lost all track of time and you’re freezing, but it’s still lucky enough you didn’t get hit by a car or something. Ha.

You try and open the door quiet, but your hands are shaking and your mom has always been a light sleeper, so by the time you get in, she’s waiting for you in the living room. 

“Maya-” She starts off, but once she sees your pathetic form, her face softens. “Baby girl, what happened?” She asks with a shake of her head, all sense of scolding entirely gone.

You huff slightly. “Love is stupid and it’s raining. Go back to bed,” You mumble, shutting off the lamp on the way to your bedroom. When you make it to your bed, you absolutely collapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave a comment or smthn. request a fic at gayrilaya.tumblr.com/ask


	11. For The Girl Who Cried Wolf And The People She Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is easy to be unafraid when we have blind faith in those we love. If someone has proven, time and time again, that they are invincible, then we will believe them when they look to the sky and claim, "I will never die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT THIS BITCH IS BACK WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER

You can manage all of ten minutes staring at the ceiling with twitching knuckles thinking about how much of an absolute fucking _idiot_ you are before you find yourself slipping out the window and turning the corner into your apartment's car garage where your mother's old volvo resides. 

In the dark, damp air of the concrete building, your breathing hitches, because, God, you fucked it all up, didn't you? Yes, she was talking to Lucas, and yes, you're fucking pissed, but of course you were the first to go off like that and make it so easy to mess it all up. Because you said shit that was too far because don't you always go too goddamn far and now she's somewhere crying over a fucking text from a boy you're jealous of because you can't help but play it all off as this bullshit fury, right?

You breathe in and out and open the door of the car that you shouldn't know how to drive and yet sort of do, even though there's a good two years before that's even legal, and you grip the steering wheel and turn on the car because you need to do _something_. 

So you drive. Not very well, but it's a while of cruising and slight speeding blending in against the Manhattan drivers and white noise on the radio clogging your ears as you beat yourself up inside before you're driving on a curve around a bend with wilderness to your left, and it occurs to you that you're not entirely sure where you are. 

Your mind begins to flood with memories of earlier. God, you're terrible. Truly awful. But you don't know if you were wrong. You meant what you said when you told her she only acted like they were anything more than friends when you were in a bad situation- that's what started all of this, isn't it? But you didn't mean to say it out loud. And, God, she's going to be so torn up over that. 

You flinch. You hurt her. That's all you ever do, huh? Hurt her, and make her worried constantly, always wondering when the next time she's gonna have to see you all broken is. Always scared of what the world will do to you. And, of course, you've gotta be stoic through all of this, just like always, because if you don't tell her that it's fine, then it'll only be worse, so you always have to ignore it all and say what she wants to hear.

Why do you always fucking do that? Why is that your job, when she's texting Lucas at two in the morning and the kissing you in hospital beds? Why do you bother?

You grit your teeth and don't notice yourself speeding up on the empty road until you swerve and the car flips and then there isn't anything, anymore. 

_Riley POV_

When you get the sobbing call from Maya's mom at six in the morning, saying they recovered a body identified as Maya's a few hours from the city, you do not call your parents before hailing a cab to the hospital. 

You storm in like it's your job despite the feeling leaving your body and simmering to a dull hiss in the back of your brain because you feel like you've been doing this for all of your life, you're convinced that hospital walls and hope of a higher power are all you've known, but you think maybe you're getting ahead of yourself. 

Katy is crying, and she has every right to, but the first thought that pops into your head as the silvery dawn begins to appear out of the windows is that, _Maya will be fine._

Partially because she has to be, and a little because this has happened before, right? So many times. And so, it's going to be okay. Because, if it weren't, it'd be your fault. She's gonna be fine, she always is. So, dutifully, you walk up to the familiar doctor you've grown so close to, and demand answers.

"Cerebral edema. Swelling of the brain. Unresponsive. There's brain trauma, there. That's the worst of your worries. She's so far unresponsive, and we've got her on a respirator. Possibility of coma, but it's early to tell, after something like that. A handful of her previous injuries have worsened, like her arm. Lungs are in bad shape, but the respirator is keeping her going," He looks grim as he gives you the rundown.

You inhale, quick and sharp. "She's going to be fine, though, right?" You ask, tugging at the sleeve of your pajama shirt.

"She's... a fighter," He hesitates. 

The next day, she's announced to be in a coma. Your heart sinks. They let you see her. She looks very small and very broken and terribly far away. Your parents take you home when they see the look on your face. 

You visit her, all day, everyday, for three days, and then your parents make you go back to school. You have to tell everyone what happened. And the first week rolls by. Lucas presses the truth out of you, the whole truth, like why Maya was out in the early hours of the morning, and he thinks that it's his fault. 

"No news is good news" becomes your reluctant life motto. It all feels entirely stagnant and terrifying. 

You visit everyday after school. Your grades drop. Not too terribly much. But enough to be noticeable. No one says anything, though. 

You begin to talk to her. Because maybe she can hear you, right? You tell her you're sorry, and explain everything, like how Lucas only texted you because he was going on vacation with his family to Europe for the weekend, and wanted you to know. 

You tell her you love her, more than anything in the world, and you tell her that you always have, and you most of all tell her that that's why she has to wake up for you. And one day, in the middle of all of this, her heart monitor begins to let out an alarm noise, and you're pushed out by doctors. You wait in the waiting room for hours and hours and hours.

But she's not dead. And her heart monitor goes back to normal. And you go home. 

And then, weeks later, something wonderful happens. It's almost ceremonious. You watch them take her off of the respirator, and she breathes all by herself. Katy grips your hand and a tear falls from her eye. "She's a fighter," She says softly, and you are so, so proud. 

The doctors tell you she's on the track to recovery, and you want to believe them, so you do, but there's still this aching in the back of your chest.

And then it's your birthday, and you want to believe that everything is going beautifully well. But it's dark, and everything in your apartment is loud, and you should be happy, but all you can see is the gaps in between the spaces where she should be, standing there next to you, and you can't help but feel completely alone. You can't be without her- you knew that a long time ago. Quietly, you slip away, and spend the night crying in your bedroom.

Months trot along in blurs of rain where there should be snow, and beige walls with antiseptic seeping through the cracks, and you barely notice that you even go to school anymore. But she should be getting better. 

"She's not getting worse." That is hardly enough for you, and all of this waiting is getting to your head. But you visit, and visit, and visit. 

And then it's May, and you haven't been visiting as much. You still do. You're dedicated, of course you are, you love her. But you and the others have made new friends, too, and life still has to go on, that's healthy, and it's prom night. So you just haven't been seeing her as much, and now it's prom night, and you're sitting in the hallway outside of the stench of booze and the loud music with an upperclassmen you only half know.

He leans forward in the darkness and kisses you, and for a second you think it's sort of nice, and then everything is rain in November at two am and a flashing text message that interrupts an almost-kiss with lips you remember, and you're scrambling up with burning eyes making up half apologies that fizzle out from your cracking voice long before you find yourself walking to the hospital in summer air that feels cold, still, in some stupid prom dress. 

You get to the hospital under fluorescent lights that hurt your eyes even still, and you tell the nurse who knows you by name that you're here for Maya, and she tells you a doctor is with her now. 

Forty five minutes later, a doctor comes out with a frown and a clipboard. 

He sounds apologetic and you feel dazed. You can barely choke out three words before you stumble out onto the street again. 

You feel hollow and guilty. You wander home feeling ridiculous. It was supposed to be just a regular visit. You didn't even get to say goodbye. You were supposed to save her. She died and it's your fault and she didn't know you loved her. 

And now they're calling her mom. 

And now you're alone. But it doesn’t make any sense. Because she’s Maya. She can withstand anything. She got shot, Jesus Christ! But now, she’s… just, dead. And that’s a little bit your fault. Mostly your fault. And she didn’t know you loved her. So there isn’t anything, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahahhahahahahah leave a review fam


	12. Closure From The Great Streetlight God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned from us all about horror stories and miracles in between the monotonous drone of everything else, which is really just to say that if there's some great terrible cliche moral to be learned from being alive and dying, too, then really, it can wait until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the one year anniversary of this fanfiction, so i thought closure would be fitting.

But then he stops you before you can even start, earthy dirt choking you up in the back of your throat, standing in the street outside your apartment in a prom dress that’s a little torn and a little wet and definitely ruined forever, now, and he’s holding your shaking shoulders, and you don’t know if he’s listening to you.

 

 “But that didn’t happen, right?” He prompts you, voice soft, slight nod. You swallow hard. He might be patronizing you. Probably not, though. You think he’s mostly probably just trying to be nice, because come on, it’s Farkle, and he’s known her almost as long as you have, and he cares almost as much as you do, and he’s probably a lot more practical than you are, anyways.

 

You nod, choked sob and all, and his grip relaxes on your shoulder.

 

“I know it scared you, but she’s _fine,_ all right? Right? She started going, but they got her back. So it’s okay. And you’re remembering it all wrong, Riles. It’s not like she’s actually been in a coma that long, it’s only been a couple weeks,” he says, breathing slow and even, like he’s trying to teach you how to do it yourself. He sounds awfully sincere.

 

You breathe, ragged and slow. Your explanations of things may be all out of order, but you’re too caught up on the _what-ifs_ to care, because it may have only been just a little before prom, but what if it was longer? What if it ends up longer? You can’t get it out of your head, and that makes it hard to care about what you are and aren’t imagining in your great retelling of the end of your life.

 

“It’s _not_ okay,” You express, dragging your knuckle across your cheeks like a child, hiccupping slightly as you try to catch your breath. You must be quite the sight right now, the two of you. “It’s _not_. Because she’s still in a coma, and she crashed, and they got her back but they might _not_ have, and she could have _died_ , and I wouldn’t have been there, because I would have been kissing some greasy upperclassmen in the corridor while eight Juniors got drunk in the girls room, instead of being there for her!” Your voice cracks against your will, and you shove some hair that’s fallen loose out of your face.

 

“ _Riley_. Hey. I know you love Maya, but life doesn’t stop just because she can’t be with you every step of the way. She could have died, but she didn’t, and you can’t tear yourself up about what _might_ have happened,” he promises you, but it doesn’t really deliver you much comfort.

 

“I was supposed to protect her,” you sputter mournfully. “I promised her I would save her and it’s _my_ fault,” you lower yourself to the cement, rapping your arms around yourself. He meets you there on his knees.

 

He’s more forceful this time, wills you to meet his eyes. “No, it’s not.” He pauses, looks upward, as if asking the big streetlight in the sky for guidance when dealing with a sobbing fifteen-year-old girl, then comes back down after a beat, heavy sigh and all, dark eyes meeting your own. “It was Maya’s.”

 

You pause, taken aback, wondering if you should punch him or cry, but a weary grin is making its way onto his face. “She stole her mom’s car because she was too jealous to let you explain a misunderstanding. She- she doesn’t even know how to drive, Riley. And, really, doesn’t that sound exactly like something Maya would do?” He shrugs, helpless to the bare truth in his statement, and he begins to laugh.

 

You take a minute, but then offer a watery chuckle in return, but soon his laughs as echoing, tinny and sharp in the empty night, and before you know it, both of you are laughing on the ground, rain pooling around you, prom dress and all.

 

 

Eventually, Monday comes, and you do your best to avoid that upperclassman that you cried after kissing, but it’s not hard. School is coming to a screeching close, and you and Farkle study for finals every other day. On your off days, you visit Maya. Farkle comes, too, if he can. On the days Farkle comes, you talk to him. On the days he doesn’t, you talk to Maya.

 

While you should be throwing yourself into studying about algebraic equations and the Watergate scandal, you instead throw yourself into studying about the Glasgow Coma Scale and Apallic Syndrome.

 

You learn about pupils in coma patients, and how the way that they react to light can predict the prognosis for the patient, so you tell Farkle you want to go alone, and bring your father’s miniature flashlight from his keychain.

 

When you make it there, you wait until there aren’t any nurses in the halls, and then you lift her left eyelid open. You flinch, if only for a moment; it’s the first time you’ve seen her eyes in weeks. You shake your head, as if that will physically save you from the jarring notion in your chest, then take the flashlight and hold it up to her eyes.

 

You take a painful breath; her eyes dilate. You might start crying from relief, but the blaring of her machines jolts you backwards, and you scurry out unnoticed as doctors pile in, chaotic symphony against the sound of her tachycardic heart.

 

After a while, you’ve started drawing lines with your uncut nails in the arm of the hospital chair, and the only thing that manages to stop you is the sight of a familiar doctor standing over you. He told you, once, when you thought that the world would end, that his name was Henry.

 

He looks at you expectantly, and when you say nothing, he starts for you, instead. “She… isn’t dead,” and he sounds almost helpless, looking down at you, eyebrows knitted together. “She _should_ be,” he tells you, after a long breath. “She… by all means, medically… should be dead. And, uh, I’ve been going over it in my head, for a while, now thinking of all of the reasons… any reason, why this kid wouldn’t be dead. At all, but especially her, and especially by now. I mean, she really should be dead,” he strings together words like he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to convey to you.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” You look up at him, voice hoarse. Does he think he’s making you _feel_ better?

 

“Well- I’ve been going over it in my mind. So have all of the other surgeons, even. And, uh, they all chock it up to something like a miracle? That’s.. what we call it, in science, in medicine, when something doesn’t make sense. When a tumor disappears. When a girl who should be dead is doing surprisingly all right. They’re all calling it a miracle,” he peers down on you, but he sounds incomplete, like he needs to go further, trudge along with whatever else he has to say.

 

“A miracle,” you repeat, knitting your hands together, not breaking his gaze.

 

“That’s what they’re saying about it,” he nods, shifting uncomfortably. “But… I don’t think it is,” he looks at you sideways. “I think.. I think that it’s you. I mean, I’m the one who’s been on her case, since the first car accident, to this one. And she shouldn’t be alive, and, uh, she doesn’t… Doesn’t really strike me as a super lucky kid. All things considered,” he tells you.

 

You stay silent.

 

“So I… It’s not exactly scientific, or a diagnosis, but I think that it might be you. I think… she’s struggling like hell to not be dead, even if she should be. And I think it might be you.”

 

He looks from side to side. You wouldn’t know how to respond if words could meet your lips, anyways. So instead, you just nod, and hope that he gets it, and then you wander home, the picture of Maya’s eyes still bright in your mind.

 

 

Everyone is worried about you, and you wish it would stopping, because obviously, the comatose girl is the more pressing issue, here. Still, you can’t fight the nagging feeling that you can’t live without her, and you can’t ward off the fear that grows in your chest each time you go to see her. It’s easier with Farkle, but he’s not there, today, and so she’s your only company, and it scares you, seeing Maya be so, so quiet.

 

Still, though, everything Henry said to you lingers in your head, and you find yourself rambling over her bed, begging her to stay alive.

 

“Maya, you can’t do this. You can’t _be_ like this. You’re Maya Hart, nothing that a car can kill. It tried once, remember? _Remember_? But you didn’t die, not then, and not again, when your _brain_ started _bleeding_. So you’re not just going to- to die, here, in a stupid hospital, because you thought it would be a good idea to drive! You can’t drive!” You sputter, gripping at her sheets, looking at her, broken and bruised, completely still in front of you.

 

“You shouldn’t have run off in the first place,” you reprimand her unmoving body, “that was stupid! Why did you have to run off, why do you always _do_ that, Maya? Why can’t you ever listen to me, why do you always have to go off and try to _destroy_ yourself?!” You struggle, and you find yourself crying once again, sucking in ragged breaths, halfway past hyperventilating.

 

“You can’t _die_ here, Maya! You have to wake up, because I can’t do this without you!”

 

Maya, in turn, says nothing.

 

 

You don’t stop visiting her, because you aren’t petty enough to hold a grudge over someone in a coma for giving you the silent treatment. You wish Farkle was here, but he isn’t, and you’re curled up in the chair next to her with a science book, trying to define what a plume is, when there’s a blip on her heart monitor.

 

Your own heart stops, because afterall, didn’t you always want to be like Maya? And your eyes first go to the monitor, then to her, and your breath hitches entirely when you see that her eyes are flitting open.

 

You say nothing, do nothing, are nothing at all as she blinks, and her eyes slowly focus in on her surroundings, unfocused and confused. After a very long, very silent beat, in which you are nothing more than a shell of a person, she dramatically whips her head back and croons, as if part of a soap opera: “Oh, Riley, how long have I been out?”

 

You start crying, and don’t really think that you’ll ever stop.

 

 

Eventually, your friendly neighborhood doctor comes back in, and explains to you that the coma had mainly been cause by a swelling in her brain, and her organs needing to heal back to a more functional state. The worry for survival had mainly been infection, or her body giving out and not furthering its healing, causing death or a permanent vegetative state. Now that she’s awake and verbally functioning, with little to no memory loss, her prognosis is good.

 

“How much school did I miss?” Maya inquires as you toss your textbook towards your bookbag, moving towards her for yet another embrace as the doctor leaves the room.

 

“Two weeks,” you tell her. “You missed prom. You almost died on prom night, actually. Then the doctor told me that you should be dead,” you give a tearful laugh.

 

“I almost died on prom night. Cool,” She nods, but she’s playing clumsily with her hands, and you can tell that something is bothering her, because she won’t quite meet your eyes, and it’s starting to hurt.

 

She looks up suddenly. “Hey, um, Riles?” She gazes at you from her hospital bed. You look at her with open eyes. She could say just about anything right now, and you would take it with a smile. “I don’t think we should... be around each other, anymore,” she rushes out, quiet, as if she’s trying to relay the meaning without actually saying it.

 

“ _What_?!” She could say just about anything, except, of course, for that.

 

“Well.. listen, all of this bad shit keeps _happening_ to me, all of the time, and I don’t want you to have to see me get hurt, or die, even, or _worse_ , get dragged into it, get hurt yourself. I just want you to be safe, and the world obviously has some kind of vendetta against me, so…” she tries.

 

You will have none of it. “Maya. Listen to me. Look me in the eyes. Okay? That is _no_ way to think. That isn’t any way to live your life. Have you had a bad stroke of luck lately? Sure, fine, but that ends here and now. Because _you_ won’t let it. Because the reality is, there is no great being in the sky trying to kill you, even if it seems like it. The universe does not want you, specifically, dead, above all other things. So you can’t act like it does, and succumb to some kind of idea that you’re destined for _anything_ , let alone death. Maya, from here on out, you are going to create your own destiny. No more shitty fate, no more ‘bad-things-for-Maya,’ no more Final Fantasy, no more ‘the universe wants Maya dead.’ Give it up, throw it away. You woke up from a coma, I’ve had enough of this, and you have, too, so it’s over, now, Maya,” you say meaningfully, and she looks almost guilty.

 

She shifts uncomfortably.

 

“….Is my mom’s car okay?”

 

“O-Of course it’s not, Maya. Of _course_ it’s not!”

 

And the two of you laugh and cry until you can’t feel anything but each other.  

 

_Friday. 10:23 pm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> review this so i have a will to go on lmao. prompts, questions or comments can be directed to my tumblr at protectkara.tumblr.com/ask


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